


Unstoppable

by Neena



Category: Numb3rs
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Case Fic, First Time, M/M, Sibling Incest, Violence, attempted suicide, coerced sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-03-23 13:02:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 65,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3769510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neena/pseuds/Neena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A dark secret from Alan's past threatens to destroy the Eppes family, as Don and Charlie hunt a serial killer that seems to be unstoppable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This story contains sibling incest, torture and a coerced sexual situation. There are also mentions of child molestation. Don't say I didn't warn you! Set in season 4 after Chinese Box, where my twisted plotline takes over from canon.

 

Waiting was the worst part of the job. It always consisted of seemingly endless stretches of time cooped up in a car with numb asses paired with gritty eyes from lack of sleep as they waited to catch a glimpse of their perp. And judging by the jaw-cracking yawn his partner Megan had just let loose, Agent Don Eppes wasn’t the only one finding this particular stakeout rough.

They’d all been putting in heroic hours on this case, working in tandem with their team's New York counterpart, following a trail of dead bodies that stretched all the way from the East coast to L.A.. The trail had led right to Don’s turf, putting the pressure squarely on him to do what the other team hadn’t been able to do and catch the twisted son of a bitch. He’d gone hard on his team for days now to track down this killer, and they were all feeling the strain. If the stakes hadn’t been so high, he would have had them stand down hours ago, but Charlie’s math predicted another murder tonight, and with so many potential locations for the killer to choose from, they were pulling in teams from other units just to cover their bases.

Don pulled his night vision binoculars to his eyes for the fourth time in as many minutes, straining to make out any movement at all out of the ghostly green images. Charlie had said the murderer would make his move tonight, and it was fast approaching midnight. None of the teams had spotted any unusual activity so far, though, so it was possible Charlie was wrong on this one.

Don shook his head and smirked to himself at the thought. He knew better than to second guess Charlie’s math by now. No, it was much more likely that the killer had slipped through their net and somewhere in the shadows the body of another boy would be waiting for them to find.

Don was just about to break radio silence to request an update when Colby's voice beat him to it. "I've got movement," he said, followed by a brief burst of static. "East side of the warehouse, near the rear of the building. I just saw something crawl out a window behind the dumpsters. Too small to be a man, but it could be a kid. David and I are investigating."

"Good," Don answered over the connection. "All teams be ready to converge on Colby's position on my mark.”

This was it - the hours of waiting and sleepless days of chasing this sick bastard down - it all came down to a few minutes of heart-pounding tension. If the night went as planned, they'd have their killer. If not, then the best he could hope for was the lack of a new victim and the safety of his team. Don mercilessly brutalised the tasteless lump of gum trapped between his molars as he waited for word from Colby.

At last the comm crackled to life; "False alarm everyone. It was just a racoon." But before Don could let out a defeated sigh, the comm opened again. "Hold on. There's something on the floor inside the building. Don! I think we have another victim!"

Don cursed under his breath and started his car. "Copy that, Colby. You heard him, everyone - this is now a crime scene. I want the ME and CS units here ASAP."

He took a moment to pinch the bridge of his nose, fighting the burgeoning headache that was already pounding behind his eyes, before pulling out into traffic and heading towards Colby's location. He could feel Megan's sympathetic gaze settling on him and he ignored it, his lips hardening into a thin line. He didn't want to hear whatever platitudes she might have to offer, and thankfully she knew him well enough to read his mood and hold her tongue.

***

 

 

Special Agent Ahab Jessop was waiting outside the abandoned warehouse, the nearby streetlamp casting deep shadows on his face, making his lean, angular features look almost skeletal. What little was left of the tall man's thin grey hair ruffled like dandelion fluff in the light evening breeze. Pacing impatiently at his side was his partner Jesse Mansfield - a young up-and-comer whose dark skin and stocky, muscular build stood in stark contrast to that of his boss. Don didn’t know them very well, but he knew they worked together like a well-oiled machine, and he respected what each of them brought to the table.  

Once everyone was gathered out front, Jessop stepped aside and let Don take the lead. With well-practiced ease, Don coordinated the group to search the building top to bottom for any sign of their killer. It was Mansfield who spotted the recently-opened hatch leading to an underground maintenance passageway. It probably ran the length of the whole street and at one time would have been used to access coal furnaces and plumbing for all the buildings overhead. It explained how the killer came and went without notice. Don sent Jessop and Mansfield down to check it out and see where the tunnel came out. Maybe it wasn't too late to pick up their killer's trail.

The first thing Don noticed as they came upon the crime scene was the blood. From the photos he’d seen of the other scenes, there had never been this much blood, and he had a feeling it was a very bad development. The warehouse had been abandoned years ago, but there was still a scattering of work benches and metal desks covered in a thick blanket of dust. Light from the street slanted in through the windows in oblong grids at regular intervals along the floor, and it was in one of those pools of light near the back of the large open space that their killer had staged his victim.

A young boy, no more than 10 years of age, was propped naked against a stack of pallets, his arms spread wide and tied down at the wrists like the previous victims. His chest had been ripped open, and splinters of bone peeked through the wreckage, white against the red-black pool of blood filling the cavity where the boy’s heart had been.

Doing his best to ignore the gore, Don could see the similarities between this victim and the previous ones. The boy was roughly the same age and had the same slight frame as the others. Like all of the earlier victims, he had a Southern European complexion and thick black hair, fanned out around his head in a halo of curls. And like the others, he’d been strangled - only this time the killer hadn’t stopped there. His dull, sightless brown eyes stared off into the distance giving the impression that he was at peace. It made Don’s skin crawl - the killer probably thought he was somehow saving these kids. At least that was the theory Megan had come up with.

Don circled the body, squatting to get a better look at his face in the darkness of the warehouse. Once again, he was struck by how much each of the boys resembled Charlie when he was a kid, and it made him shiver. He was overwhelmed with the sudden urge to call his brother, but he couldn’t bear the thought of him having to witness this scene first hand.

As it was, Charlie was losing just as much sleep on this case as the rest of Don’s team - he wasn’t handling it well. Don knew Charlie was spooked by the killer's choice in victims - it was because of their resemblance to Charlie that they’d decided not to tell their father about the case - and that meant Charlie didn’t have an outlet at home to help him cope. Don was doing his best to be there with a sympathetic ear, but quiet moments together were hard to come by with the workload a case like this generated.

Don ran a hand down his face then scrubbed at his gritty eyes to help him focus. The forensics team and the Medical Examiner had just arrived on the scene and were setting up their equipment. They wouldn’t have new data for them until the morning, so there wasn’t much for them to do tonight. He was just about to call his team over and send them home for the night when he heard David shouting for them from the shadows along the back wall.

“Hey guys! We’ve got a second victim over here!”

The bottom fell out of Don’s stomach. Two victims. This kind of escalation didn’t fit Megan’s profile or Charlie’s predator/prey algorithm. That meant that all bets were off.

Don grabbed one of the CS unit’s work lights and headed off in the direction of David’s voice.

It was another boy. Older than the first. Tied to a chair with his eyes taped open and his hands in his lap. In his hands was cupped what appeared to be the first boy’s heart.

Don stumbled back a step, his lungs refusing to take in air. It was like looking in a mirror. Like he’d stepped into his past and was looking at a young - very dead - reflection of himself.

 ***

 

 

He’d cracked tonight. He knew his team didn’t think any less of him for it, but he hated that he’d been so thoroughly rattled in front of them. He’d felt like a rookie, unable to hold it together, and he’d passed the reins over to Agent Jessop, bolting for the door with no explanation or excuse. All he could think about was Charlie. He had to see Charlie.

The lights of the Eppes family home were off for the night, but there was a telltale glow emanating from the back of the house that indicated the lights in the garage were on, so Don let himself into the house with his key and made straight for the kitchen. He grabbed two beers from the fridge, opened them with shaking hands, and silently made his way back to the garage.

He wasn't the least bit surprised to find his brother hard at work at his blackboards, rubbing out what was probably an hours' worth of work with a swipe of his closed fist. Don could see that the fist was already heavily caked with several layers of multi-coloured chalk, and there were smudges of chalk on his forehead and in his hair from where he'd run his hands though it. Don felt a fond smile tug at his lips, but the memory of what he’d seen earlier invaded his thoughts and a hot wave of nausea rolled over him.

He must have made a noise, because at that moment, Charlie spun around to face him, already spouting off about his latest calculations, and then their eyes met and he sputtered to a stop.

"Don? What's wrong? What happened? You look like you've seen a ghost!" In three long strides, Charlie was in front of him, and it was then that Don realised he was physically shaking. He wanted to say he was alright, but when he opened his mouth, nothing came out. He felt clammy.

"Okay, you're officially freaking me out here," Charlie said, manhandling him to the old sofa where he forced him to sit. With Charlie’s arm around his shoulder and his big brown eyes drilling their concern into him, his brother said gently, "You wanna talk about it?"

"It's nothing. It's silly," Don answered, depositing the two untouched beers onto the side table next to him. "I just got spooked, that's all."

"You found another body?" Charlie asked, and began rubbing small circles on Don's back.

"Two bodies. Two boys. And it looked like the sick bastard made one watch while he killed the other one. Cut his heart out and put it in the older boy's hands like...like a gift." Don found himself leaning into Charlie's touch, allowing it to reassure him that his brother was still very much alive.

"So...I was wrong. We were all wrong. He broke his pattern and two more kids are dead. I get that. But Don - I don't mean to sound insensitive, but you've faced worse things."

Don scrubbed at his face with both hands and sighed. "I know. But you didn't see those kids, Charlie. In fact, I don't ever want you to see them."

"Why? It’s not like I haven’t seen some pretty horrific things, Don. I think I can handle it."

Don let out a bitter laugh. He'd never wanted his brother to have to see horrific things, but this was one that he could protect him from. And he would, no matter how much Charlie argued. "Just trust me, okay?" he replied with finality. Charlie looked like he might protest, but Don glared at him and he quickly dropped it.

"Alright," Charlie reluctantly agreed. "But can you at least give me the broad details? I'm gonna need them if I'm going to tweak my predator/prey algorithm to fit the new parameters."

With a renewed burst of energy, Charlie launched himself off the couch and back up at the blackboards, ready to work, and Don found he already missed the physical contact of his brother's hand on his back. It hit him like a bitter pang of grief - just a moment and then it was gone - which was ridiculous, because how can you grieve for someone who was standing right in front of you?

Don took a deep breath; there was nothing for it but to start from the beginning, going over the killer's previous pattern and the ways in which this new crime failed to fit within it.

It was nearly four in the morning by the time they decided they'd done all they could without further data, and they were both too wired to go to sleep. It was Charlie's idea to make a big, greasy breakfast. Bacon, sausage, eggs and hashbrowns, toast and pancakes. It was enough to feed an army, but Don found that keeping busy helped keep his mind from dwelling on the bodies in the warehouse. Before long he and Charlie were goofing around like a couple of kids, laughing and attacking each other with flour-coated hands. It felt good to let loose and blow off some steam, and Don was finally able to clear his head a little.

"What's the matter with you two? Do you have any idea what time it is?" Their father stood in the doorway, hair dishevelled and a stormy scowl on his face. Their dad's scolding voice had the same affect on Don as it had when he was little, and he quickly sobered up.

"Sorry Dad, we didn't mean to wake you up," said Charlie, casting his eyes down like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Well you did, and I won't be able to get back to sleep now," Alan groused and disappeared back up the stairs, the sound of his bedroom door slamming shut making Charlie wince.

There was an awkward silence between the brothers as they took in the mess they'd made. "Guess we'd better clean up, huh?" Don suggested. "What's with Dad, anyway?"

Charlie shrugged and picked up a wet dishrag. "I don't know. He's been a bit off the last few days. I think he knows we're keeping something from him."

"Yeah, well...I'm not budging on this one." Don could tell that Charlie was itching to ask him again what was bugging him, so he clumsily changed topics. "So...you and Amita - how's that going? Last time I checked it sounded like things were getting serious. Dad mentioned talk of her moving in?"

A dark cloud passed over Charlie's face at the mention of Amita's name, and Don knew he'd touched on a sore topic. "I'd rather not talk about it," Charlie snapped, shutting the conversation down before it could get started.

Don put his hands up in surrender; "Alright, no need to get touchy. Just...I'm there, you know? If you wanna talk about it."

That got him a small, reluctant smile. "Thanks. But not now. Not yet: it's still too..."

"Fresh?"

"Raw," Charlie amended, his liquid brown eyes betraying the hurt in a way his words couldn't.

Don nodded and dropped the subject. It wasn’t like he was one to give advice, not with his track record. And after making a complete hash out of things with Liz, his team was now short an agent - perhaps permanently.

The two of them stood staring at each other in an awkward silence, which was broken when the toaster popped and two pieces of blackened bread came out along with a billow of smoke. Don snatched them out of the toaster and dumped them in the trash as Charlie waved the smoke away from the smoke detector. The last thing they wanted was to set that off and have another encounter with their dad.

"So much for toast."

"I think we got it covered," Charlie replied, nodding in the direction of the kitchen counter which was overflowing with food. Don snorted a laugh and helped his brother carry their meal to the dining table.

It was going to be another long day, and they would both need the energy.

***

 

  

Alan Eppes sat on his bed fretting. It was something he'd been doing a lot of over the last few days. Ever since that phone call from an old friend of his back East. He and Phil Linehan grew up together and had been tight way back in the day. Even after Alan and his family had moved to the West Coast, they managed to keep in touch. Forty years later and the calls were few and far between, but hearing his friend's voice always made his day. Until a few days ago when his old friend called with bad news.

Of course Alan knew this day was bound to come eventually. The past may have been buried, but it was a shallow grave. Still, over the years, Alan had managed to live with his past and mostly he could forget the worst of it. He had a wonderful life now, with sons that made him proud and a happy and successful marriage that still brought him joy even after the loss of his wife. He'd be damned if he'd let the ancient past ruin any of it.

He thought about Don and Charlie downstairs making breakfast at this ungodly hour and felt guilty for snapping at them. If he were honest, he never thought the day would come when his two boys put aside their differences and become friends. Wherever Margaret was right now, he knew she was smiling down on them. And she'd be nagging at him to go back downstairs and apologise for being such a grump. Rolling his eyes heavenward as if to say 'yes, Dear,' Alan got back up again and plodded his way down the stairs.

The sight that greeted him made him smile despite his sour mood. Both his boys were covered in flour and had plates so full of food that the syrup they were pouring over the works threatened to overflow onto the table.

"Mind if I join you boys?" he asked by way of apology. Two pairs of chocolate brown eyes smiled up at him and Charlie slid over a plate that had apparently been filled on the off chance that he decided to eat with them. Nothing else was said about the matter and the three of them settled down to breakfast in a companionable silence.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Jellyneau, who's not only an amazing beta, but is also the best sister ever! Check out her Doctor/Rose stories - they're brilliant!

Don's hair was still damp when he and Charlie arrived at the FBI offices at just before 7:00 AM. He'd had a quick shower (a lukewarm one, thanks to the fact that Charlie and his father had beat him to it), and gathered up his work on the case as well as an old photo of him and Charlie in their backyard. There was no doubt in his mind that the latest victims were spookily similar to him and his brother, and he needed to let his team in on that fact. Even if it was just a coincidence, he couldn't rule out the possibility that their killer knew he was on the case and was making it personal.

When they stepped out of the elevator, he was surprised to find that they were the last ones there. Megan was perched on the corner of the conference room table, looking rough and nursing a very large cup of coffee. David and Colby were quietly conversing with Agents Jessop and Mansfield by the whiteboards that were still filled with Charlie's work. All eyes turned to Charlie as they entered the room, as if he had some magical answer that would have their killer behind bars by lunch.

"So Don's filled me in on the new pair of murders, and it's clear that our killer has broken from his established pattern to some extent," Charlie started off, hitting the ground running.

"I don't know," David replied. "These last two kills were so different. Can we even be sure it's the same guy? Maybe there's more than one killer here. Or maybe we’re looking at a copycat?"

"I don't think so," Charlie answered. "The fact that the deaths were staged at one of the predicted locations and at the exact time predicted as well...I don't think a copycat killer would have had the kind of information needed to fit the pattern so precisely."

"And," Megan added, "this is almost definitely the work of one man. These murders are too intimate in nature to be shared with an accomplice. He's methodical, meticulous, and he enjoys the power he wields over his victims - plus, sex is what triggers his aggression, and sex generally requires privacy."

"Wait; hold on - I thought there was no evidence from the previous murders to suggest that any of the victims were raped." Don's brow furrowed, his brain retaliating against the idea of adding rape to the mix. His eyes slid subconsciously to Charlie, a shiver running down his spine.

"The act itself was never carried out, but there's no doubt that the attempt was made. We're looking for a man who, for whatever reason, is unable to perform sexually, or is only able to reach fulfillment through the act of killing. The boys were strangled face to face, the killer's thumbs pushing their faces upwards, probably so he could look into their eyes as they died." Megan cast an uneasy glance Don's way. There was something she was holding back at his request, and he had a feeling she was about to go back on the promise she’d made on the phone earlier and spill the beans in front of Charlie. 

Before she could say any more, he grabbed focus. "Do we have any information on where the underground tunnels come out? Any indication of how the killer got away or where he might have gone?"

Agent Jessop took a step forward, his deep, rumbling voice filling the subdued room. "The tunnels run for miles, and branch off in several locations like a maze. It looks like they've been expanded on over the years, and there's evidence of recent squatters. Can we put up that map?"

Mansfield gave an efficient nod and unrolled a grid map detailing the warehouse district they were in the previous night. "Mansfield and I think it's most likely our man entered the tunnel system here," Jessop continued, a long, bony finger pointing to a small outbuilding a block and a half away from where they'd found the bodies. "The work shed shows scuff marks and footprints leading to the trap door, CS is going over it now, but if I had to guess, I'd say that's our spot."

"Great. See if we can pull footage from the security cameras and traffic cameras in the area. Maybe we'll get lucky," Don said.

"I'm on it," Colby replied and headed for the door.

"Charlie, is there anything you can do to narrow down the possible locations for his next attack?" Don asked. He knew that previous behaviour would suggest that the killer had already left the area, but with so many new variables thrown into the equation, he wanted an advantage if he struck again on his turf.

"I'll do what I can, but I think I'll need to start from scratch. I don't think he'll continue using warehouses if he's planning to stick around - he's too smart for that," said Charlie. "But if he's using tunnels to travel to his kill sites, that might narrow things down."

"Okay, just see what you can do," Don ordered and waited until Charlie was gone before addressing the others. "Alright Megan, you can put up the photos of the crime scene."

Megan dutifully pulled the photos out of the file she'd been holding and taped them up to the clean whiteboard, giving Don a pointedly disapproving look. Don was sure the others were just as curious about why he wanted to keep Charlie in the dark about this. It was all about to become much clearer.

"So...here's the thing: I know I kind of lost it a bit at the crime scene last night, and I apologise, but I want you to take a look at this." Don unzipped his jacket pocket and pulled out the old photo he'd pilfered from the house earlier that morning. He stuck some tape to the back of it and pinned it up next to the others.

"Jesus, Don!" Megan said, coming in closer to get a better look. The others gathered in as well, and a tense hush fell over the room. There could be no denying that the latest victims were twins of Don and Charlie when they were young.

"So, you don't think this is just a coincidence?" Don asked her, even though he knew in his heart what the answer would be.

"I think it's pretty safe to say that our killer knows you're on the case. I mean, all the past victims had a passing resemblance to Charlie, I suppose, but this boy..." Megan shook her head in disbelief. "He had to've done his homework on you - we could be looking at a new fixation."

"Yeah. I thought about that," Don admitted, although he wasn't ready to deal with the ramifications of that just yet. "How's the background check going on our vics? Do we have an I.D. on them yet?"

"We haven't had any hits on the LAPD missing persons database, " said David, "but if they were abducted last night it's possible they haven't been reported as missing yet."

Jessop's resonant voice sounded behind them. "Have you tried matching them against the national database?"

Don squinted at him, trying to get inside his mind and see where he was going with it. He nodded to David who led the way to the adjoining room where he sat at the computer and started typing. Everyone else milled around behind him, watching as the morgue photos of their two boys were matched up against a steady stream of missing children from across the country. It took a while, but Jessop's suggestion paid off. One after the other in quick succession, the boys gained an identity.

"Brothers," Don muttered under his breath, feeling a charge of adrenalin kick him in the guts. He leaned in and summarized the description for the others. "Jayden and Hero Drakos, ages ten and fourteen, reported missing from Jefferson Elementary in New York City on February 8th of this year."

Don straightened up and rested his hands on his hips, trying to look unaffected when in reality his fingers were leaving bruises with their death grip. He looked back into the conference room to have another look at the whiteboard, but saw that there was someone in there. He knew even before his eyes finished focusing that it was his brother. Don bolted towards Charlie, leaving his startled colleagues behind.

Charlie was standing in front of the whiteboard, his hands hanging slack at his side, his eyes wide and glassy as he took in what Don had kept hidden from him. He jumped when Don put a hand on his shoulder. Don couldn't think of a damn thing to say, but he wanted desperately to wipe the look of fear and confusion from his brother's eyes.

"Is he after you?" Charlie asked, his voice coming out quiet and shaky.

"No. No, of course not," Don lied. Charlie frowned at him and crossed his arms. He wasn't falling for it. "Okay, the truth is, we don't have all the facts yet. But we just found out that these kids were kidnapped from New York months ago - long before I was brought onto the case. So it has to be just a coincidence."

"A coincidence?" Charlie repeated in disbelief. "Don, that's us. I mean, look at them - it's like looking in a mirror." 

"I know, alright?" Don barked, some of his frustration seeping to the surface. "Why do you think I kept this from you?" He started pacing, his eyes riveted to the pictures on the board. "If you'd asked me earlier, I would have said maybe this guy knew we were on his tail and he was messing with us, but it is just a coincidence, Charlie. He's had those kids for months."

Charlie seemed to think about it for a minute and then nodded. "At least now I know why you were so twitchy last night."

"Twitchy? I do not get twitchy," Don argued, but the tension was broken, and he could feel a smirk threatening to break free.

***

 

Charlie was slouched down on the living room couch pretending to watch basketball with his dad. He made a feeble attempt to join in on what little conversation his father offered, but all he could really think about was Don. He'd invited his brother over for dinner, but Don said he needed to go home and crash - he'd been running on fumes for the last three days at least, and it was catching up to him. 

Charlie couldn't help thinking about his brother all alone in his apartment. Anything could happen to a person when they were alone. All it would take was a kicked in door and Don off his guard or fast asleep, and it would be too late.

He knew Don would say he was being paranoid, but he couldn’t help it. He just wished he could tell his dad what was going on. But if he and Don were freaked out about this case, his dad would go ballistic. No, Don was right. It was better they left him out of the loop this time. He chewed on his thumb nail and stared blankly at the T.V. screen. He only realised he'd zoned out a bit when he felt his dad kick at his foot and he heard the phone ringing.

"You gonna get that?" Alan asked.

Charlie scrambled off the couch and grabbed the phone off its charger. "Don?" he said, even before the person on the other end had a chance to speak.

"It's Colby," came the reply. "Your brother wanted to let you know there's been another murder. Actually, there's been two. Think you can get away?"

Charlie eyed his father who was watching him intently. "Yeah, of course. Where do you need me?"

"We're at the Duke and Duchess Pub on South Santa Fe Avenue. Think you can find it?"

"I'll find it," Charlie assured him. Then, in a quieter voice, he asked, "is Don with you?"

"He's here. Right now he's talking with the hazmat team."

"Hazmat team!" Charlie exclaimed, louder than he'd intended, getting a startled look from Alan.

"Just get here as soon as possible, alright?" Colby asked.

"Yeah - I'll be right there." Charlie hung up the phone, gave an apologetic shrug to his father and grabbed his car keys. He didn't have time to explain anything, and he wouldn't know where to begin or what to leave out if he did. He chose instead to make a run for it and worry about his dad later.

***

 

Alan clicked the remote and the T.V. blinked off. He stared at the front door where Charlie had just left and sighed. He knew his boys were working a bad case - one they thought he was too 'civilian' to be part of - and it was killing him to keep his mouth shut about it. He wanted to know what had caused the haunted look on his youngest son's face when he'd come home today. Chalie had let loose something about hazmat, so there was a chance they were working on something terrorist related. It wouldn't be the first time their security clearance forced them into silence.

In any case, thinking about his boys was far preferable than contemplating his own emotional crisis. Not for the first time, Alan considered talking to someone about it. Sure, he'd had the mandatory counselling when he was a boy, but he hadn't put too much stock in it, then. Now that Don was seeing a shrink, though...he could tell that it was making a difference - that Don seemed happier now. Or at least more at peace with himself. Alan didn't think he could go so far as to see someone professionally, but maybe Larry?

It was funny how he and Larry had stumbled into a friendship over the years. The man was brilliant, but sometimes talking to him was like having flashbacks to the '60s. One thing was for certain; Larry wouldn't judge him. And his advice was usually sage, if somewhat esoteric. Now, if only said physicist had a phone...


	3. Chapter 3

The Duke and Duchess Pub turned out to be an abandoned, burned out husk of a building in one of the seedier parts of town. It was the kind of place where nobody sees anything, even if it happened right in front of them. Charlie parked a ways down the street and followed the flashing red and blue lights to the crime scene. To his relief, Don was waiting for him outside the building, along with the creepy-looking Agent Jessop. Don waved him over as soon as their eyes met, saying a few words to Jessop, who then vanished into the building.

"Hazardous materials, now?" asked Charlie, in lieu of a proper greeting.

"This guy's not boring, I'll give him that," Don agreed. "Hazmat's been over the place and they say it’s safe to go in as long as we wear respirators." 

Charlie craned his neck trying to peek over Don's shoulder to get a look inside the pub. It was too dark to make anything out, though.

"C'mon, there’s something you need to have a look at,” Don said and handed him one of a pair of respirators.

"What, now you're okay with letting me see the crime scenes?" Charlie didn't want to sound petulant, but he could see where it might have come across that way. Don pursed his lips at him and gave him a small shove on the back to get him moving. Charlie wasn't about to argue, and he led the way into the dimly-lit building donning his mask as he went.

It wasn't hard to spot the crime scene. On what was left of the pub's raised stage, lit by a pair of hot-burning spotlights, were two more boys, posed naked with one lying on top of the other on the floor as if they were lovers. 

Charlie walked over like he was trapped in a nightmare and being pulled along by an invisible force, unable to break away despite the fear screaming in his head. Don was right there at his side, and together they approached the boys. 

With some minor relief, Charlie noted that these two only vaguely resembled him and his brother, although it was enough of a resemblance to warrant a bit of a freak out. Once again, there was an older boy and a younger one - the older on top with his arms wrapped around the smaller boy, whose arms were spread wide and bolted to the floor with metal straps.

But what really made Charlie's skin crawl was the metal bands strapping the two boys together. There were three of them; one cinched around their upper bodies at about chest level, one at their waists and one around their legs, holding them immobile. Each one was about a foot wide and a quarter inch thick and they'd clearly been designed solely for the killer's needs. 

As Charlie stepped up onto the stage, he saw with dawning horror that there was an irregular-shaped hole about six inches in diameter corroded through the topmost metal band, and there were wisps of smoke rising from it. It was a moment before Charlie realised it was burning flesh that was bubbling and hissing and releasing the smoke. Gasping, he half-ran, half-stumbled back towards the entrance where he ripped off his mask and doubled over just in time to throw up.

At some point during his miserable retching Don appeared at his side and squatted next to him, draping an arm across Charlie's shoulders. Charlie squeezed his eyes shut in misery - just once he'd like to show his brother that he could be strong, yet here he was again, needing Don to look after him when there were so many more important things he should be doing.

"Hey, Buddy. You okay?" Don asked, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

Charlie nodded, even though he felt like one giant, frayed nerve ending and his throat burned from his own stomach acid. At the thought of acid, Charlie's brain immediately conjured up an imagine of the way a different kind of acid had eaten through those kids and the retching started up again.

"I'll get you some water, okay?" said Don. 

Charlie glanced up at him with a weak but grateful smile. "Thanks," he said. "And Don? Sorry."

"What? No, Charlie. If anything, I'm the one who's sorry. I shouldn't have made you come in here."

Charlie shook his head at the look of guilt on his brother's face. "You didn't force me to do anything," he argued. Then he thought about it for a second. "But just out of curiosity, why did you want me to go in there?"

Don gave him an odd look, as if he thought Charlie might be joking. "The equations, Charlie."

"What equations?" Charlie asked, perplexed.

"The ones painted on the wall behind the bodies! Seriously, are you telling me you didn't see them?"

Feeling more than a little embarrassed, Charlie got defensive. "Forgive me if my attention wasn't focused on the wall what with the two dissolving children at my feet!" Charlie instantly regretted his words, seeing how they made Don flinch like he'd been slapped. "Oh God, sorry."

"Forget about it," Don breezed. "Let me get you that water." And with a light clap on the shoulder, Don was gone, leaving Charlie to compose himself. A few minutes later, Don reappeared and tossed him a cold bottle of water, half of which Charlie downed in one long pull. The water iced its way down his raw throat, soothing as it went down and he smiled gratefully at Don for the second time that night.

With renewed determination, Charlie fixed his respirator in place and made his way back over to the bodies on the stage. Now, of course, the equations painted on the blackened cinder-block wall stood out like a sore thumb.

"Well...I'm not a chemist, but I'm pretty sure what we're looking at here is a simple corrosive penetration rate equation - to determine the rate an acid dissolves metal. The other part over here I'm not too sure about, but I'm assuming the HF stands for hydrofluoric acid."

Don's brow furrowed above his mask. "Seems kind of redundant, don't you think? It's not like he's telling us anything we couldn't have worked out for ourselves."

A looming figure which had been lurking in the shadows emerged to stand with them. Charlie tried unsuccessfully not to jump at the sudden appearance of the macabre-looking Agent Jessop. He was thinking of maybe putting a bell on the man to avoid future scares.

"Perhaps he's leaving us a message, hidden in the equations," Jessop said, tilting his head in thought. "Is that a possibility, Professor Eppes?"

"Of course it's a possibility, but there's not a lot of data to work with here," Charlie answered. "Leave it with me, and I'll look into it."

Don and Jessop both gave him a nod, and Don said, "I'll have photos of the equations sent to your office first thing in the morning. I don't have to tell you that the sooner you can give me some answers, the better."

Charlie hated when Don put the pressure on him like that. But he could see where he was coming from, and he didn't envy his brother's role in the investigation. He honestly didn't know how Don coped under the kind of strain he was constantly under, and it occurred to him that in this instance he could make life easier for him.

"I can do you one better," he said, and dug into his jacket pocket for his cell phone. He quickly snapped a couple of photos of the wall, gave them a brief smile that was completely ruined by his respirator, and turned to leave, calling out over his shoulder, "I'll start on it tonight."

***

 

Charlie headed straight over to Cal Sci. It was nearly 10 PM, but there were always people hanging around the science buildings, and as luck would have it, Professor Burns was one of them. As a newcomer to the Chemistry department, Burns was burning the midnight oil, preparing lectures for the upcoming week. He had the frazzled look of a teacher swamped with work and desperate for a break. Charlie was more than willing to oblige.

He quickly confirmed Charlie's conclusions about the corrosive penetration rate equation, and it turned out the other equation had to do with something called homoassociation. Burns explained that the greater the purity of the hydrofluoric acid, the greater the acidity. And he pointed out that the equation on the wall suggested a purity of 80%. After that, though, there was very little Burns could tell him, and Charlie headed to his office to continue working there.

The next time he came up for air it was to find Amita standing in his doorway, reading his work over his shoulder.

"Hey, Amita," he greeted her awkwardly, still unsure about how they'd left things. She'd made it pretty clear the romance part of their relationship was off, but how did that leave them as far as their friendship went?

"Hey yourself," she replied with a shy half-smile. "It's been a few days...I thought I'd see if you would consider a truce?"

Charlie could tell she was nervous, which was odd, seeing as she was the one who'd been avoiding him the last few days. Still, he hated seeing her squirm, so he smiled in return and said, "Truce." He held out his hand and she shook it, and just like that he felt their friendship click back into place. That, more than any of her arguments the previous night, proved to him that she was right - they worked best as friends.

"So...what are we working on?" she asked.

Charlie quickly filled her in and before long they were bouncing ideas off each other as if nothing had happened between them. 

It was pushing nine o'clock when Don called requesting an update, but despite their efforts, the only thing they could confidently agree on was that they were working on an entirely new and separate set of murders. Charlie explained that the killer wasn't just escalating - he was changing tactics altogether. And with only two incidents fitting the new pattern, all Charlie had to offer was the probability that the killer would strike again tonight and would find another abandoned building to stage his murders. Plural.

He heard Don sigh on the other end and knew he'd been expecting miracles that Charlie simply couldn't deliver. He just hoped good old-fashioned FBI grunt work would bring them more luck.

"I don't suppose you have any new information that might help me narrow down the search parameters?" Charlie asked hopefully.

"You're really at a dead end?" Don countered.

"I'm afraid so," Charlie replied.

"Alright; why don't you come here. Anything new comes up and you'll be right where the action is."

"Sounds good," Charlie agreed, and hung up. 

***

 

The bullpen was a hive of activity when Charlie arrived with Amita in tow. Don waved him over to the conference room where the whiteboards were filling up with new information on the latest set of victims. Charlie noted that there was a separate board entirely for the deaths leading up to the L.A. murders. Don had obviously taken his advice to heart and was treating the two groups of murders as separate.

Don gave him an assessing look, barely acknowledging Amita's presence. "I feel I should warn you that it's looking a lot more likely that the killer is making the two of us the main focus of these new murders. He's definitely trying to send us a message at the very least."

"Really?" Charlie asked. He'd thought the latest victims resembled him and Don to a far lesser degree.

"Have a closer look," Don said, finally giving Amita a curt nod in greeting. Charlie could tell he was in big brother mode, seeing Amita as the one who'd broken his baby brother's heart and treating her accordingly. He'd have to set him straight later on. But for now there were more important things to deal with.

Charlie took a couple of steps closer to the newest whiteboard so that he could read it better. It took him an embarrassingly long time to zone in on what Don was talking about - he'd been too focused on the pictures of the boys and the equations - but when he saw it, it nearly stopped his heart. The names of the two boys were Don Fassbender and Charlie Sommerfeld. Don and Charlie.

The room tilted dangerously, and Charlie shot a hand out to grab onto something. Anything. As if in slow motion he felt himself going down, only to be stopped by Don's arms around his waist. Next thing he knew he was sitting in a chair, his head being pressed down between his knees and Amita telling him to breathe.


	4. Chapter 4

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Charlie said, batting away Amita's hand as it started to stroke his hair. 

Don realized it might be a little petty, but he was glad when Charlie pushed her away; she'd lost the right to touch his hair when she'd backed out of their relationship. He kerbed his tongue as he watched Amita take a step back like she'd been burned, but Charlie kept his head down, and Don wondered whether it was more out of embarrassment than because of actual dizziness.

"You sure you're okay?" Don asked, stepping in close and dropping a hand on Charlie's shoulder. "If this is too much..."

"I said I'm fine! Honestly, I just haven't eaten in a while. I got dizzy, that's all."

"Yeah? When was the last time you had something to eat?" Don asked.

Apparently Charlie really had to think about it. "Breakfast. Yesterday."

"Come on - we're going out," Don ordered, and started out the door before Charlie could argue.

"You coming?" he heard Charlie ask Amita.

"No. I'll pass," she replied. "You boys go ahead; I'll stick around here and see if I can find out anything that'll help us."

Don missed the rest of the conversation, but he refused to feel guilty about giving her the cold shoulder. After all, from what little his brother had told him, Charlie was the injured party in all this. At the elevator, Don had to wait for Charlie to catch up. 

"Where we going?" Charlie asked, digging around in his pockets, which turned out to be empty. "It looks like you're buying today. I forgot my wallet."

"In that case, we're going to McDonald's." Don replied and smiled at Charlie's look of dismay. 

They ended up at a deli a few blocks from Don's office. It was too early for the lunch crowds, so the two of them had the place pretty much to themselves. Charlie's stomach began grumbling audibly the moment they walked through the door, and Don smiled to himself, knowing that he'd made the right choice in taking a much-needed break for food. It had been way too long since Don had eaten, too, and he ordered a foot-long submarine sandwich piled high with meats and cheeses.

"You know, you really need to start taking better care of yourself," Don said after they'd ordered and found a booth. "Eating is a necessity, not a take-it-or-leave-it option."

"Says the man who hasn't slept more than a few hours in four days."

"Touché," Don said. 

They shared a moment of companionable silence as they waited for their order, and Don reveled in the fact that they could do this now: it wasn't that long ago that they'd been more strangers than brothers. It felt nice to think of his brother as his friend, and he would never take that for granted again.

"So...you wanna talk about it?" Don asked after their food arrived. 

"Amita and I are still friends," Charlie said, clearly trying to sound optimistic. "And I'm okay with that. Really."

"Well, that's good to hear," Don replied, doing his best to downplay his misgivings, "but I was talking about the killings."

"Oh," Charlie mumbled, casting his eyes down to his own massive sandwich and giving it a look like it had somehow offended him. Don realised he should have waited until after they'd eaten to bring up the subject of the murders, but it was too late to turn back now.

"You know, no one would think any less of you if you wanted to take a pass on this one," Don said and took a mammoth bite out of his sandwich, as if to demonstrate how it was done.

"It's a bit late for that. Even if I wanted to sit this one out - which I don't - I'm already a target. And so are you. How can you be so calm about all this?" asked Charlie.

"Comes with the territory, I suppose," Don shrugged. "I've locked away some nasty characters; sometimes they hold a grudge."

Charlie picked at his food, thinking about it. "Do you think that's what this is about? Because if it is, and I'm a target too, then it stands to reason that whoever killed those kids is someone I had a hand in locking away as well."

"Actually..." Don started. "I think this is about something else. There’s something about this one that doesn't feel right."

"I think that's the understatement of the year," Charlie quipped.

"What I mean is, my gut is telling me this isn't just some punk we put behind bars. This feels more personal. The look-a-likes and the boys with our names; that's one thing. But the staging? That's something else entirely. That's not just 'I'm gonna kill you'; that's 'I'm gonna make you watch your brother die horribly and then kill you'."

His brother swallowed hard, a hunted look in his eyes. He had to have noticed it, too, but having voiced it out loud made it feel that much more real. This was more than just one boy watching the other one die; there was a twisted intimacy implied by the way the killer had positioned those children. He'd literally placed the heart of one boy in the other's hands, and Don didn't even want to think about what was implied by having the next two boys bound together the way they were. 

"There's more, isn't there?" Charlie asked, breaking in on Don's thoughts, reading him as only a brother could.

A pained expression on his face, Don nodded. "Don Fassbender and Charlie Sommerfeld were kidnapped in Chicago in March, and David tracked a stolen lot of high grade hydrofluoric acid to a lab in Chicago at the same time."

"And that coincides with the second murder," Charlie concluded. "And the first murder was in New York, the same time the two kids in the warehouse were taken."

"Yeah. Jessop and Mansfield are checking to see if there were any flagged thefts in New York at the same time as the first murder," said Don. "Megan thinks the first set of murders were opportunistic. The killer zig-zagged his way across the country gathering the stuff he needed to stage the L.A. murders and killing randomly as he went. Chances are there were more kids snatched in the other cities he's killed in, too. I've got Megan looking into missing persons for any kids taken along his route in the given timeframe."

He could see Charlie's mind go into overdrive, his gaze drifting off into the near distance as a world of numbers overtook him. Even after all these years, Don was still amazed at what his brother's brain could do. It wasn't long before Charlie snapped out of his mini-fugue with a seeming non-sequitur.

"Five days," Charlie said, mostly to himself.

"I'm afraid you lost me there, Buddy."

"We had always assumed our killer was attempting to appear random in his choice of locations as he headed for the West Coast, and that these latest killings were the result of the Heisenberg Principle..."

"Right," Don said, remembering the bank robbery case in which Charlie had introduced the theory to him. "You mean the one where people behave differently once they know they're being watched?"

"Close enough," Charlie agreed, and Don felt oddly proud of himself for getting it right. "But it seems pretty clear now that this has somehow involved us since before the killings began. 

“There's been nothing random about his actions from the start - he mapped out his route based on where he could find children who fit his requirements and where he could get what he needed for his final showdown here in L.A. Based on the number of cities he hit along the way and assuming he took two kids from each of those cities and continues to kill them at the same rate, we're looking at five days before this thing culminates."

"Culminates with what? That's what I wanna know," Don muttered, feeling a sudden need to be back in his office, at the center of things. "Eat up - I need to run your theory past Megan, see what she has to say about it."

Charlie looked at his sandwich with distaste, but he took a bite anyway. Don had lost his appetite, too, but he'd resolved they weren't going anywhere until they'd finished everything on their plates. He took a bite of his own sandwich, which tasted like wood and went down like paste. He grimaced at his food and silently cursed his ingrained need to be the responsible one.

***

 

Don awoke with a start, chest heaving as images from his nightmare seeped into his waking brain along with the adrenalin rush that went with it. Charlie was screaming. The skin on his brother's chest melting away like wax, showing Don his still-beating heart. There was a deep, disembodied voice telling him he was too late.

He shook his head, and when that didn't clear his mind of the nightmare, he dug his fingers through his hair, roughly massaging his scalp to ease the throbbing pain behind his eyes. It took a good few minutes for his breathing to calm down enough to let him relax back into his bed. Cold sweat dried on his skin, making him shiver.

He was in his old bed, back at the house. Don looked around, feeling disoriented. The light was strange, and he couldn't remember going to sleep. He had no idea what time it was or how long he'd been out, and a wave of panic washed over him. He rolled into a sitting position and snatched his watch off the bedside table where he'd left it. It was 6:30. But was it morning or evening? 

His bare feet hit the floor already moving, and he was halfway down the stairs when he heard the low sounds of voices coming from the living room. It sounded like his father and Larry, but they were speaking too quietly for him to make out what they were saying.

"Larry?" he called out, thumping down the last few stairs as he rubbed the grit out of his tired eyes. "What's going on? How long have I been out?" Larry and his father blinked back at him like little kids caught looking through dirty magazines.

"Don! You're awake," Alan said, a big fake smile plastered on his face. "You were so punchy I thought you'd be out 'til morning. Oh! Colby called - wants you to call him back."

"What? When?" Don asked, instantly clear-headed. Six-thirty; that meant he'd slept for three hours. He'd told his dad to wake him up after half an hour. "Why didn't you wake me up?" he demanded angrily.

"I tried, Donny," Alan argued. "But you were down for the count. Don't worry, Colby said it wasn't urgent."

Don suppressed the urge shout at his dad. It wasn't his fault - he didn't know how crucial the events of this evening were. Don should have been back at the FBI an hour ago to organise the surveillance teams. Thanks to some fancy math work and some help from the LAPD, they'd managed to choose eighteen possible locations for the next murder - among them were a couple of abandoned garages, three nightclubs, several retail spaces an old school and even a church that was temporarily closed due to water damage. Even with the extra manpower, they were stretched to their limits, and that was assuming they were even looking in the right places to begin with.

Charlie had made it painfully clear that his conclusions were based on weak data. There just wasn't enough solid evidence to point them in the right direction. But what choice did they have? They had to at least try.

He took a deep, calming breath. "Is Charlie still in the garage?" he asked, wondering why his brother hadn't come in to get him. It would be just like him to get so lost in his work that he'd forget to check the time.

"Now don't get mad," his father said, which immediately caused Don's blood pressure to rise. "Charlie left a couple of hours ago. Said he had a theory he wanted to look into and that I should let you sleep."

A sharp jolt of fear struck Don, leaving a coppery tang at the back of his throat. He was halfway out the door when Larry spoke up for the first time since he'd come down.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" he asked, his eyes sweeping over Don from head to toe.

Don looked down at himself and saw that he was still dressed in the undershirt and boxers he'd had on when he'd gone for his nap. "Damn it!" he growled and raced back up the stairs.

***

 

Alan shared a concerned glance with Larry after Don slammed the door on his way out, already on his cell phone and barking orders at Colby. He wished he knew what it was that had his sons so worked up lately. He supposed he wasn't one to talk, though, with the mother of all secrets hanging over his own head. And that brought him back to Larry and the reason he was here.

"So...you wanna have a seat? Oh! A beer! You want a beer?" he asked with what he now realised was a bit too much enthusiasm.

Larry eyed him suspiciously before slowly nodding. "Yes. I get the feeling a soporific beverage might be beneficial. For the both of us."

Alan jumped at the opportunity to escape to the kitchen - any delay in having 'the talk' was a good thing as far as he was concerned. He was starting to get cold feet about the whole thing, actually. The more he thought about it, the more nervous he got. This was something he hadn't told anyone, with the exception of his wife - it just wasn't something you talked about. Ever.

With two opened bottles of Budweiser in his hands and no further excuse to delay any longer, Alan finally bit the bullet and went back out to the living room. Larry was seated in the chair facing the couch, his hands steepled in front of his face and seemingly lost in thought. He snapped out of his reverie quickly enough when Alan pressed a cold beer against his hand.

"Sorry...I was light years away, metaphorically speaking, of course," Larry apologised. "So what is it that has us doing the cloak and dagger routine with your eldest son?"

Alan had planned this all out. He knew what he had to say, and had pictured how he would say it, but now that the time had come, his mouth was bone dry and there didn't seem to be a single word rattling around in his brain to help him out. All he could do was take a long draw on his beer and then sit staring at it, waiting for inspiration. Thankfully, Larry was an extremely patient man and made no attempt to hurry him along.

His bottle was empty by the time he got up the nerve to talk. Alan looked up at the curious and open expression on his friend's face, and it all started pouring out. "When I was twelve years old, my family fell on tough times. We were living in Queens at the time - just a tiny apartment with me and my folks, but my dad lost his job, and my mom was working three part-time jobs trying to make ends meet. That didn't cut it, as you can well imagine. We were slowly going under. I didn't realise it at the time - I mean, I knew things were rough; there was a lot of tension at home, and a lot of talk about tightening our belts. 

"To be honest, I think I made things worse. I was always asking them for things, or complaining that my friends had money to go do stuff and I didn't. You know how it is. Anyways, it was around that time that my Uncle Richard from Florida graduated high school and came out to New York to work. It seemed like our prayers had been answered; he moved in with us and helped us with the rent..."

 

***

 

Don shoved the door to Charlie's office open, anger percolating just below the surface. Charlie was sitting cross-legged on his desk, rolling a piece of chalk between his hands and staring blankly at a chalkboard. He didn't even notice Don, and he certainly didn't notice the black cloud hanging over Don's head.

"Charlie! What the hell were you thinking?" he barked, making Charlie drop his chalk in surprise.

"Don! You're up!"

"No thanks to you!" Don paced in front of his brother, taking his frustration out on the hardwood floors. "Dad would have let me sleep all night - I was so far out of it I didn't even hear my cell phone ringing!"

"Sorry, Don," Charlie said calmly, which annoyed Don further. "I had a breakthrough and I needed the campus computer...I just thought it best to let you sleep - you've been pushing yourself too hard."

"You don't get it, do you?" Don continued on as if Charlie hadn't said anything. "There's a serial killer in L.A. with some...some twisted fetish about us, and you go running off by yourself. You might as well have painted a big red bullseye on your head," he shouted, jabbing Charlie in the forehead with his his index finger. "From now on I'm putting a detail on you whenever we're not together. I should have assigned someone to you already."

Charlie gawped at him, building up his own head of steam now that Don was winding down. "Okay. First of all, I didn't just wander out on my own. I let Dad know where I was going, and I called Megan, too, like you didn't already know that. Second, we've already determined that there's another five days before the killer's big finale, so the threat was negligible. And third, I don't need a babysitter, Don. I'm pretty much surrounded by FBI agents all the time as it is!"

Don shook his head, keeping his hands safely on his hips where they couldn't throttle his brother. It had been a really long week, and his afternoon nap had only served to make him feel more punchy. He sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to draw on whatever reserves of patience he had left. 

When he calmed down enough to take a really good look at his brother, what he saw was a man pushed to exhaustion - dark circles under his eyes, in desperate need of a shave and a shower. It effectively took the wind out of Don's sails.

"Look. It's been a rough few days, okay? And we're both running on fumes. Let's start over, huh? Why don't you tell me what it is you're working on?" 

Charlie eyed him warily before accepting Don's proffered olive branch, and the next fifteen minutes was a blur of math that meant nothing to Don followed by an analogy involving high school football teams bringing in a ringer to win the big game.

"So you're suggesting we what? We bring in a star quarterback?" asked Don, not sure if he was getting it or not.

"In essence, yes," Charlie agreed, his eyes bright and alive for the first time in days. "The killer knows us. He knows how we work, what we're likely to do in any given situation...so we throw something new into the mix. Bring in someone he won't anticipate, like, say, a certain world-class marksman we know."

A slow smile began to creep across Don's face. Ian Edgerton was undoubtedly a star quarterback - one whose involvement with Don's team was peripheral at best, and wouldn't be anticipated. It would definitely give them an edge...that is if they could manage to track him down. With no time to spare, Don clapped Charlie on the back and rushed back out the door. He was on the phone with David before he got to the parking lot, and by the time he got to his SUV the plan was already in motion.


	5. Chapter 5

David Sinclair was waiting for Don as he got off the elevator on his floor.

"Ian's in the Cascade mountains tracking an escaped convict, but I talked to him and he thinks he'll have his man by tomorrow afternoon at the latest and can be here on the next flight out."

Don gave him a brisk nod, not breaking stride as he headed for his desk. "I guess that'll have to do. Any news on the thefts and kidnappings front?" he asked Colby, who'd joined them en route.

"David and I traced the theft of some military-grade A-1 semtex to Fort Riley, Kansas, the day after Michael Winters was killed in Topeka. And according to Jessop, two more boys went missing from Topeka the previous day." 

Colby led the group into the conference room where there were two more sets of photos up on the whiteboard. He pointed to the first set, which consisted of two more boys, again with a resemblance to Don and Charlie, but this time the age differences were off. Don put them somewhere around 16 and 7 respectively.

"Randall and Eric Spence," Colby said. "Their mother said they'd run away together once before and she didn't worry at first. But when they didn't come home after three days she called the police."

Don raised his eyebrows at that. Three days was a hell of a long time to go before reporting two children missing.

"It gets better," David added. "According to Topeka police, Mrs. Spence and her children were frequent visitors at the local hospital - apparently they were very accident prone - and the boys were on something called a Child Protection Register."

"Basically, Family Services red-flagged their case and was keeping close tabs on the boys," Colby said, tag-teaming with his partner. "They had suspicions but no hard evidence that the father was abusing them. Naturally, when the boys went missing the father was suspect number one. He'd just got out of prison a month earlier on assault charges, and he had no alibi for the time of his kids' disappearance. The cops held him as long as they could, but they had no solid evidence against him and they had to turn him loose."

"And before you ask, he was still in prison at the time of the first murder in New York. He's not our guy," David finished.

Don rubbed the back of his neck, frowning at the photos of the two boys; something about them was nagging at the back of his mind. He just couldn't put a finger on what it was. "Okay. And what about these other two kids?" Don asked, turning his attention to the next set of pictures. This time the two boys were about ten and fifteen years old, and aside from the fact that they had dark hair, that's where the resemblance ended between them and the other victims.

It was Colby who answered. "This one we're not really sure about. Zachary and Austin Marsters from Tucson were on a camping trip with their father, Bill, and never returned home. According to the mother, she and the father were newly divorced and she'd recently made threats to sue for full custody. She's convinced her ex-husband ran off with the boys, and since he's fallen off the map, too, it's most likely this is a run-of-the-mill domestic kidnapping situation."

"Where were they camping?" asked Don.

"All we know is that they liked to rough it, so they weren't in a campground with amenities, and the mother said he told her he was going to stick close to town," David replied.

"So location-wise, it doesn't fit the pattern," Don muttered. "What about the timeline - how does it fit in with that?"

"Well that's the only reason we pegged them as possible victims," Colby answered. "They went missing two days after the Jackson boy's murder, and if our killer was driving West along the highway he would have passed through Tucson."

"Huh," Don voiced, mulling it over. "That would make it a kidnapping of opportunity rather than by design. It doesn't really fit the killer's profile. And then there's the matter of the father. What happened to him? If our killer really did take those kids, the father would be an obstacle. Which means this wasn't our guy, or Mr. Marsters' body is out there somewhere waiting to be found."

David and Colby looked at each other, but neither of them seemed to have anything new to add.

"So we've got a serial killer holding at least two more kids and with enough plastic explosive to put a good size hole in a building, does that about cover it?" asked Don.

David nodded. "Sounds about right."

It was then that Megan arrived with Charlie in tow. Don gave his brother a nod before turning his attention to Megan. He knew Charlie was giving him the stink-eye for sending Megan over to keep an eye on him, but he could just suck it up, as far as Don was concerned.

"So..." Megan began, "I got to thinking; if our killer is dragging kids all the way across the country before killing them here, how's he travelling? He'd have to have enough space for upwards of fourteen children, who aren't likely to be cooperative. He'd need a truck - something large that wouldn't draw a lot of attention."

"And something that wouldn't be reported as stolen right away, either," Don added. "You gotta figure that if a truck that size was reported stolen it would be picked up pretty quick; and he'd need a good head start. So either it was a vehicle that you see everywhere..."

"Or maybe a rental truck that wouldn't be noticed missing until it was late on return," Megan finished. "I'll get on it."

"It'll have to wait until we get back from surveillance," Don called out to Megan's retreating form. She waved at him without turning around - message received. "Charlie..." Don turned around to confront his brother, only to find him staring at the same photos that had bothered Don. "Charlie, what is it?" he asked quietly, coming up to stand next to his brother.

"It's funny," Charlie said, a hint of confusion in his voice. "Doesn't the younger one look more like Dad when he was a kid? You know - that picture of him when he was riding that horse?"

A light went off in Don's head - that was what was bugging him earlier. "Yeah - yeah, you're right. That's just bizarre." He leaned in to get a closer look, bumping shoulders with Charlie who was doing the same.

"Of course, it makes total sense that there would be a resemblance between Dad and these kids, too, right? Mom used to say I took after him, after all," Charlie said, looking for affirmation.

"Yeah. That's gotta be what it is," Don agreed, but his gut was telling him it was more than just a coincidence. "Listen, Charlie...we're about to roll. If this guy's gonna hit tonight, we need to move, now."

"And you want me to stay put here?" Charlie concluded, sounding less than thrilled.

Don winced, knowing it was a lot to ask. "Right now this is the safest place to be. Please, I'm begging you, here. Just...I need to know that you're safe."

Charlie's shoulders slumped in defeat. Don knew his brother could never say no to him when he pulled out all the stops. "Alright," Charlie agreed. "At least here I'll know right away if anything happens. You'll be careful, though, right?"

"Of course," Don said with a reassuring grin, giving Charlie's curls a playful tousle. He noted that his brother didn't bat his hand away like he did earlier with Amita. All he got was a half-hearted grimace, followed by one of his bashful smiles. 

Don gave him one long last look, wishing he didn't have to leave him here alone, and then it was back to the business at hand. There were teams to coordinate, tactical gear to grab and a whole lot of waiting and watching to do.

***

 

It was getting late, and with the dimmed after-hours lighting, the FBI offices were downright creepy. Every little sound made Charlie jump, even though he knew there was no reason to worry; there were plenty of agents in the building, if not on his floor, and there was no reason to think the killer was coming after him anyways. At least not tonight. Still, Charlie was careful to sit with a wall behind him and a clear view of the exits.

He'd decided to make himself useful and had mapped out likely truck stops along the killer's route to Los Angeles. Figuring in the need to feed his captives, Charlie had found 34 stops so far that met the requirements of a long haul with multiple passengers. With any luck they might catch him on CCTV. Charlie knew that the most frustrating thing about this case was the lack of physical evidence - no DNA, no fingerprints, and so far, no witnesses to point to who was behind these killings. He would love nothing more than to be the one to give Don his first glimpse of their killer.

When his cell phone rang it nearly gave him a coronary. He dug it out of his pocket and was relieved to see it was Don who was calling - maybe there was some good news. "Hello?"

Don's voice sounded strained on the other end: "Charlie, I'm coming to pick you up."

"Did you catch him?" Charlie asked, unable to read Don's mood over the phone.

"He was a no-show," Don said and sighed. "We're gonna leave a skeleton crew on surveillance for the rest of the night, but I doubt we'll see any action tonight."

"Don, I'm sorry," Charlie said, feeling the weight of his brother's disappointment even from a distance. "I should have come up with something better..."

"Hey, hey...it's not your fault, Buddy. We knew going into this that there was a good chance we'd be wrong. We just didn't have enough to go on. If anything, it's my fault we didn't have more data for you to work with."

Charlie hated it when Don beat himself up over things that were out of his control. Although he supposed he did the same thing himself, so he wasn't one to talk. "You planning on staying over at the house tonight?"

"If it's alright?" Don asked.

"Of course. You know you don't have to ask," Charlie said.

"Didn't want you to think I was smothering you or anything," Don replied, and Charlie clearly heard the teasing tone and it made him smile.

"Just get over here." Charlie hung up and stood, stretching muscles that had cramped from sitting in front of the computer for so long. God, he was exhausted. All he wanted to do was collapse on his bed and sleep for a week. His limbs heavy with exhaustion, Charlie gathered his findings and placed them on Don's desk. With the information he provided, they'd be able to investigate the truck stops in the morning.

Charlie decided he might as well head downstairs and wait for Don out front. He turned off the computer he was using and tidied the desk, and with a quick look around to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything, he headed to the elevator. 

Just as he arrived, the elevator dinged and the doors slid apart. Charlie suddenly found himself face to chest with a tall, thin man dressed all in black, towering menacingly over him. Charlie stumbled back a couple of steps, his heart pounding against his ribs, and he was about to run when his over-tired brain realised it was just Agent Jessop.

"What's the matter with you?" Jessop's low voice sounded menacing to Charlie's ears. "It looks like I shaved ten years off your life."

Charlie's voice was stuck in his dry throat. All he could do was nod, thinking that if the guy didn't want to scare anyone, he needed to get himself a new face - the man looked like an Addams Family reject. Charlie didn't know if it was the fact that there was no one else around, or if was simply the paranoid workings of a tired brain, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was in danger. When he finally found his voice it came out squeakier than he would have liked.

"Don's waiting for me downstairs," he said, edging around Jessop and backing into the elevator. His palms were sweaty, and he realised that he'd done something really stupid - he'd backed himself into a corner. His eyes darted around, looking for a possible escape route, and just when he was about to make a mad dash for it, Jessop gave him a sneer and wandered away down the corridor. 

The elevator doors slid shut and Charlie slumped against the side wall, struggling to calm his nerves. He was losing it. He was letting his imagination get the better of him and it was making him jump to illogical conclusions. Jessop might look like the Grim Reaper, but there was absolutely no way he was the killer. He'd been following the serial killer's trail all the way from New York, after all. He let out a deep breath and shook his head at his own behaviour.

Don was waiting for him in his car right in front of the building and Charlie got in quickly, locking the door behind him.

"What's wrong?" Don asked, squinting at him in the dim light. "You okay?"

Charlie considered telling Don about his run-in with Jessop, complete with details about his freak-out. But Don didn't need any more stress than he already had, so he kept it to himself. "I just want to get home; I swear, I could fall asleep standing up."

"I'm with you there, Chuck," Don said with a teasing smile. Charlie rolled his eyes at him, too tired to complain about the nickname.

The car ride home was quiet and peaceful. Charlie hated to admit it, but he really did feel safer with Don at his side, and as the car hummed along the roads towards home, he felt himself relaxing for the first time in days. Within minutes he was lulled asleep by the rumbling motion of the car. 

***

 

The sun was streaming brightly through Charlie's bedroom window when the sound of the phone ringing woke him up. He looked at the alarm clock next to his bed and found that he'd slept in. He had a class to teach, and if he didn't get a move on, he'd be late. Downstairs he heard his dad talking on the phone, and he distinctly heard the words, "I don't think I should wake him up."

Charlie groaned. "I'm up!" he shouted to his father, and a moment later he heard his dad's heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. Charlie snaked a hand out from under the covers to grab the phone from him, then pulled the blanket over his head, cocooning himself from the bright room and the world outside it.

"It's your brother," Alan said, and the lack of retreating footsteps meant that he was sticking around to find out what was going on.

"Donny?" Charlie said into the phone. Don's voice in his ear made him feel like a little kid playing fort with his big brother, both of them hiding from imaginary bad guys behind an impenetrable wall of fabric.

"Listen, Charlie, I thought you should know I've been called out to Jefferson Elementary School. There's been a bomb threat and it sounds like it's related to our case."

Charlie threw off the covers and sat up, suddenly awake and on high alert. It couldn't be a coincidence that the school had the same name as the one from which two of the kids had been abducted in New York. "A bomb?" He ignored his dad's raised eyebrows and quickly grabbed his pants off the floor, his eyes already scanning for his shirt.

"Yeah. The school's being evacuated right now, and I'm about five minutes out. Now don't get mad at me - I've got two agents in an unmarked car out front of the house. I don't want you going anywhere without them. Do you understand?"

"Fine," Charlie sighed. It was a battle he was going to lose, so there wasn't much point in fighting it. "Do you want me to meet you there?"

"No. There's nothing for you to do right now, and the bomb squad is en route. Besides, until we get eyes on the situation we really don't know if this is the work of our killer."

"Alright, then. I've got a class I need to get to that I really can't afford to miss. But promise me you'll keep me updated, okay Don?"

"You got it," his brother replied, and the line went dead.

***

 

Don pulled his SUV into the parking lot of Jefferson Elementary School and parked at the end of a row of LAPD cruisers with their red and blue lights flashing. The road had been cordoned off, and as he arrived, the last of the school kids was being shepherded down the block to the safe zone. Agent Jesse Mansfield was pacing in front of the main entrance, looking like a dog straining at the leash and began talking almost before Don was close enough to hear him.

"Grade Two teacher taking her kids out to the soccer field for phys ed says she saw a tall man dressed all in black, wearing a black fedora, leading two boys out to the playground," Mansfield said as he led the way around the side of the building. "She called out to him, but he didn't answer. She said he was careful not to turn towards her, so she never saw his face, and that's what made her suspicious. She brought her kids back inside and had the Principal check it out. He immediately called 9-1-1."

"Did he get a better look at the guy?" asked Don, hoping for a break. The grim look on Mansfield's face was all the answer he needed.

"The man was gone by the time he got out there, and the boys..."

"Yeah?"

"This is one you've gotta see for yourself," Mansfield answered cryptically.

They were rounding the backside of the building, and Don could see the bomb squad team suiting up. It wasn't until they got closer that Don saw what it was that Mansfield couldn't describe. It set the hairs on Don's neck standing on end. It was the Spence boys from Topeka. Randall, the older of the two, was precariously perched on the top of the monkey bars, holding his younger brother, Eric, at arm's length in front of him, like he was offering him up as a sacrifice. Around Eric's chest was a bomb vest. Both boys were in tears.

"Jesus," Don muttered under his breath. "Head back to the parking lot. David and Colby will be here in a minute - I want them brought up to speed." As Mansfield took off in the opposite direction, Don approached the boys. But before he could get much closer, one of the suited bomb squad team blocked him. 

"I can't let you get any closer," the agent said.

"I need to talk to those kids," Don argued. 

"Then you'll have to do it from here," the man answered. "From what we can see, there are two old-school construction levels attached to the the bomb's trigger, and it'll blow if either of them tilts too far in any direction. So if the kid falls..."

Don watched as one of the suited-up agents cautiously approached the monkey bars. He shoved his hands through his hair, trying to think of anything to say that might help keep the kids calm while the bomb squad worked to get them down safely.

"Randall," he called out, and the older boy looked up at him in shock, clearly surprised that anyone knew who he was. "Randall, we're going to get you down, alright? Just...hang on, okay? Just another minute."

Randall was shaking his head, and the look in his eyes sent a chill down Don's spine - it was like the boy was dead already and he knew it. He didn't know how long Randall had been holding Eric like that, but he had to be at the limits of his endurance. Even from this distance, Don could see his arms shaking with the effort of keeping his brother steady. At that moment Don felt an instant of perfect empathy; the love he felt for his brother, the responsibility of keeping him safe, the fear of losing him and the resignation that there was nothing he could do to stop it.

"Randall! Randall - don't give up on me, Buddy!" Don shouted, but he could see that he was too late. "Get down!" Don yelled just as the blast knocked him off his feet.

He flew backwards, his head smacking hard against the concrete, and for an indeterminate amount of time the world had narrowed down to blinding sparks of light and the loud ringing in his ears. Time slowed down after that. Don was hyper-aware of everything around him, like watching a high-def movie in slow motion with the sound turned off. He tried to sit up, but there were hands holding him down. Someone was kneeling over him, their hands on his shoulders pinning him to the pavement. Don lifted his head, scanning the area and trying to size up the situation.

It looked surreal, he thought. It was red. Everything was red. And the Spence boys were just...gone. The bomb disposal agent nearest the kids was crumpled on the ground about fifteen feet from Don. He wasn't moving. Don doubted the man would ever move again. The monkey bars were a twisted metal rib cage, dripping flesh onto the ground below. And all around him people were running - a few of them were running towards him.

He tried again to get up, but now there were more people hovering over him. They were saying something to him, but he couldn't make out the words. He got the gist of it, though, and he stopped struggling. When he rested his head back down he could feel wetness against the back of his head and he tried to make sense of it. Had it been raining? Had the ground already been wet and he hadn't noticed. He turned his head, straining his eyes to look down at the pavement and saw that it was blood. It had to be his own blood, too, but that wasn't possible, because there was way too much of it. Firm hands moved his head back to its original position, forcing him to stare up at the cloudless blue sky.

The ringing in his ears was slowly beginning to fade, and he could finally make out what it was the man above him was saying. He was telling him to stay still. That much he'd figured out for himself already. He was explaining that he was a paramedic and asking if he could understand what he was saying? Don's mouth opened and closed, and he thought he'd managed to say 'yes'. 

The other people gathered around him were lifting him now, and he soon found himself on a stretcher heading for an ambulance. He needed to tell them that he didn't have time for this. He had to get back to work. He needed to stop this sick son of a bitch. He needed to get to Charlie, to see with his own eyes that his brother was safe.

The paramedic was asking him questions again, but Don was too preoccupied to listen to him, he kept trying to look around, but he'd been immobilized and all he could see from the corner of his eye was a blur of movement. As his stretcher was lifted into a waiting ambulance things started to go a bit fuzzy around the edges. The voices were falling away and everything was becoming quiet and distant. His last thought before the blackness took him was that his dad was going to be mad at him if he died.


	6. Chapter 6

Charlie was in the middle of his lecture when David stuck his head into his classroom and motioned Charlie over. He could tell by David's anxiousness that something was wrong, and his heart immediately began racing. He made his apologies to the class and practically ran to the door.

"What's wrong? Did something happen?" Charlie asked before he'd even stopped in front of David.

"It's Don, Charlie," David began, and at that point Charlie's knees buckled and he had to grab on to David's arms to stay upright. "He's gonna be okay: breathe, Charlie."

David led him a ways down the corridor for some semblance of privacy. Charlie had gone completely numb, but he could already feel the numbness giving way to panic. "What happened?" he croaked.

David gripped him by the shoulders and looked Charlie right in the eye. "There was an explosion at the school. Don was standing too close when it happened and he went down pretty hard - hit his head. Now I don't want to scare you..."

"Too late for that," Charlie wheezed with a sick smile glued on his face.

"...but he lost consciousness when they were loading him into the ambulance. He's in Emergency now, and I'm going to take you to him, alright?"

Charlie nodded, his feet already moving, even though they were moving in the wrong direction and David had to steer him around. "Dad!" Charlie exclaimed, suddenly realizing that this news didn't affect just him.

"It's okay. Colby is picking him up," David said, leading Charlie down the hall towards the entrance.

Charlie spared a moment's concern about leaving his class unattended, but it was far from the most important thing on his mind. Outside, the sun seemed unreasonably bright - wasn't it supposed to be dark and stormy to match his mood? He felt betrayed by the weather, which was such an odd, distracting thought that he barely registered when they'd reached David's car. 

The drive to the hospital went by in a complete daze. His mind kept circling around the fact that Don had told him there was a bomb, and Charlie hadn't even tried to stop him from going; he couldn't even remember if he'd warned him to be careful. And he'd lost consciousness? That was bad. That could mean all kinds of things. Was there intracranial hemorrhaging? Would he have brain damage? Would he even wake up? What if he slipped into a coma? What if he was brain dead?

The panic was building, and the only thing he knew could keep him from flying apart at the seams was math. But he was miles from the nearest blackboard, and even if he wasn't, he couldn't disappear into numbers the way he had when his mom was dying. His dad needed him. And more importantly, Don needed him, too. 

A frightening thought occurred to him at that moment: it was Don he'd always relied on to pull him out of his math fugues in the past...what if he was no longer there to do that for him? What would happen then? 

He couldn't fathom living in this world without Don - not anymore. They'd become so close over the last couple of years that life pre-Don now seemed like a colourless, joyless stretch of time. Without Don... Charlie couldn't go there - not if he wanted to avoid a full-on meltdown.

David flew through traffic with his lights flashing and they arrived sooner than Charlie would have thought possible. He was out of the car the second it came to a stop, not waiting to see if David was behind him. When he found his way to the Emergency Room, his first thought was that it was too still: Charlie had expected to see organised chaos, with doctors barking orders and nurses racing around with crash carts. But instead there were a handful of patients quietly waiting to be seen, and none of them looked like they were in serious condition. 

He couldn't see Don. He stood in the middle of the waiting area, turning around and scanning the faces. His brother had to be here!

David was suddenly at his side and they were moving again. He was steered towards a reception desk where David asked where Don was. After what seemed like an interminable amount of time, the man behind the bulletproof plexiglass counter told them he'd been taken behind the doors on the left, but that they'd have to wait out here.

"Can you at least tell us how he's doing?" Charlie asked, the words nearly sticking in his dry throat.

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid you'll have to wait for the doctor to fill you in. Please have a seat, the doctor will be out as soon as he can."

David thanked the man and went to sit in one of the many vacant chairs in the waiting area. Charlie couldn't even think about sitting. He needed to be doing something, even if it was just pacing back and forth uselessly.

It wasn't long before he heard his name called and turned to see his dad rushing towards them followed closely by Colby. "What's the news?" he asked.

"We're still waiting to find out," Charlie answered, already feeling less anxious now that his father was with him. He supposed there truly was strength in numbers. His father placed a warm hand on his shoulder and they shared a quiet moment of mutual support.

After the first half-hour crept by, Charlie gave up on pacing and sat down, and like it was a torch being passed, Alan then stood up and began pacing. Soon they were joined by Megan and Larry who had been together when they got the news. Their little group made up a good portion of the weekday morning ER crowd, but it was so quiet in the waiting area you could hear an ant sneeze.

After an hour went by with no news, Alan was starting to lose his cool, and that, in turn, made Charlie more nervous. Charlie was about to go pester the receptionist again when the door leading to the ER slowly opened. But instead of a doctor coming out to talk to them, it was Don himself, looking waxy and pale, his clothes filthy with dried blood and with his head heavily wrapped in gauze. It was the most frightening and beautiful sight Charlie had ever seen and a tsunami of relief crashed over him with enough force to leave him giddy to the point of dizziness.

"Donny! Shouldn't you be in bed?" Alan asked. "You look like hell."

"Thanks, Dad," Don answered wryly. "I'll be fine. Why's everyone standing around here? We got work to do, people."

His team took the hint and left him alone, leaving the family to have a moment in peace. Once it was just the three of them, Don dropped the tough-guy act and sank down onto one of the plastic chairs, his hands coming up to knead at his temples. Charlie's concern returned full-force and he hovered in front of his brother, his hands flexing, looking for something to do to help.

"You really should be in bed, you know," their dad said, taking the seat next to Don and gently placing a hand on his shoulder. The fact that Don didn't argue was reason enough to worry.

"Your father's right." Charlie spun around to face the man who'd addressed them. He was a ginger-haired man in his late twenties, his youthful face spattered generously with freckles, making his stern expression look oddly comical. He shook hands with them and introduced himself as Dr. Carlyle and then his tone turned serious. "We're dealing with a moderate to severe concussion, and when there's been a loss of consciousness, even a short one, it's important that the patient remain under observation."

"The patient is an FBI agent with a serial killer to catch," Don stated firmly, then winced at the pain his own raised voice had caused him. "If you'd just let me sign the release forms, I have a lot of work to do."

Ignoring him, the doctor continued making his case to Alan and Charlie. "If he insists on leaving, I can't stop him, but he should not be left alone over the next 24 hours. If you notice any unusual behaviour, like severe mood swings or physical symptoms like slurred speech, worsening headache or one pupil that looks larger than the other, he needs to be brought back to Emergency immediately. It's not unusual for concussion sufferers to be dizzy and over-sensitive to light and loud noises. He might also feel sluggish and unusually irritable," he added with a pointed look at his patient.

"No - he's always like that," Charlie said without thinking, earning him a glare from his brother and a smirk from his father.

"But if you're willing to keep an eye on him, you can take him home. And I mean home - not work. Andrew at the desk can give you his release papers and care instructions."

"Thank-you," Alan replied, shaking the doctor's hand again. "I'll personally see to it that he takes it easy."

"Dad..." Don whined, sounding so much like a teenager being grounded that Charlie nearly laughed. 

***

 

True to his word, Alan had brought Don home and refused to let him return to work. Don made the expected grumbling noises and warned them that they couldn't keep him locked up at the house indefinitely, but the truth of it was that he was in no shape to be working and he knew it. His whole head throbbed in time with his heartbeat, and even dim light sent shards of pain into his eyes. 

So he pretended to protest while he let his dad coax him into the guest bathroom where Charlie was running a hot bath. He'd lit candles and placed them all around the tub, like he was getting ready for a romantic evening. Don would have teased Charlie at the ridiculousness of it, but he couldn't deny that the soft lighting really helped ease his headache.

It wasn't until he caught a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror that the full extent of what he'd been through hit him like a sledge-hammer. As his father helped him peel away blood-encrusted clothing, a something small that had been trapped in the folds of his shirt clattered to the tile floor. Looking down at it, Don realised it was a child's molar.

Grabbing hold of the cool porcelain sink was the only thing that kept Don from collapsing as images dredged up from the school playground spun sickeningly though his head. The explosion itself was a blur, thankfully, but the horrific carnage that followed played across his mind's eye in an endless loop. A tight band wrapped around his chest, making it hard for him to breathe, and he felt the sudden urge to bolt - to run away and just keep running.

"Don? Don, it's okay. You're gonna be okay - you're having a panic attack." Don heard the words coming out of his brother's mouth and felt his surprisingly strong hands guide him to sit on the toilet seat. Soothing words kept pouring out of Charlie's mouth, and eventually, Don was able to make sense of them, to take them in and believe them. Staring into his brother's concerned brown eyes was what brought him back and let him breathe easy again. 

He could remember Charlie going through a few panic attacks when he was a kid, and it had been terrifying to watch. Now he knew it was even more terrifying to go through, and he had a whole new respect for his baby bro.

It was his father who was left pacing and wringing his hands, unsure of what to do, and Don remembered that it was always him or his mom who calmed Charlie down during an attack. He decided to take pity on his father.

"Dad, I'm good now, I promise. It was just... it's been a real bad day. Charlie can help me out from here, right Charlie?" Don gave his brother an encouraging nod and saw the moment when his socially-sluggish brother caught on and he began nodding, too.

"Yeah, Dad, I got this," Charlie said with calm authority, and a look of relief came over Alan's face.

"Well, if you're sure..."

"I'm sure," Charlie replied.

"In that case, I'll go make up the couch," Alan said and made his exit with an apologetic smile.

The ensuing calm was a relief and Don relaxed, leaning against Charlie's back as his brother turned and tested the water in the bathtub. The steam felt wonderful. Cleansing. He breathed it in deeply, feeling a bone-deep sleepiness creep its way through him. He was half asleep when Charlie shifted and jolted him awake.

"No sleeping. Not yet," Charlie admonished. "Okay, let's get you out of those pants - they're going straight in the garbage."

Don let Charlie loosen his pants and even lifted up so he could drag them down his legs. He was so far beyond worrying about modesty that he didn't even care that he was almost completely naked in front of his brother. All he wanted was to sink down into that hot, inviting water and clean off the evidence of what had happened that day.

He waited, expecting Charlie to leave him to it, but he just stood there. Don squinted up at him, seeing indecision written all over his brother's face. "You planning on joining me or something?" Don teased.

"The doctor was very clear that you shouldn't be left alone."

"I think I'll be safe, Charlie. I've been bathing by myself since I was five," Don said. Charlie still seemed unsure about leaving him alone, though, so he made a compromise. "Tell you what; I'll have my bath - alone - and you can knock on the door every few minutes. If I don't answer, I give you permission to break down the door and rescue me from a horrible and embarrassing death. How's that sound?"

His brother mulled it over for a moment then nodded slowly. "Alright. I'll be right outside the door if you need me for anything. Okay?"

"Sure, thing, Chuck," Don replied, getting a dirty look in response. He smiled to himself, letting the familiar banter soothe his turbulent mind. He waited until Charlie had closed the door behind him before stripping off completely and easing into the steaming water. He let out a loud groan at how good it felt.

"You okay in there?" Charlie's anxious voice came from the other side of the door.

"Yes, Charlie, I'm fine," he called back, shaking his head at the mother-henning he was getting over a stupid little concussion. He was pretty sure he wasn't fussed over this much after he'd been shot. Of course, he would have bitten their heads off if they'd tried, he mused. If there was one thing his sessions with Dr. Bradford had taught him, it was that it was okay to let other people help him when he really needed it.

He slowly started to relax, his thoughts became muddied and distant, and the steamy air was making him sleepy. For a moment his sluggish brain forgot about his injury and Don slipped further into the water to lie back, but the second the back of his head touched the cast-iron tub it felt like he'd been cracked over the skull with a baseball bat. This time his groan was louder and definitely wasn't a happy one.

“Don?” came Charlie’s tentative question from the hallway. “I don’t want to keep pestering you, but… are you okay in there?”

Don’s hand went to the back of his bandaged head, gently prodding his injury. It was throbbing fiercely, and the pain in his head was blinding. At the moment, he wasn’t capable of stringing two words together to reply, so he wasn’t overly shocked when Charlie cracked the door open and peeked in. What he saw must have been worrying enough to bring him all the way inside, and the next thing Don knew, his brother was batting his hand away from the bandage.

“You bumped it, didn’t you?” Charlie asked.

“Ugh,” was all Don could manage in reply.

“You want your pain pills now? I know it’s a bit early, but…”

“God, yes!” Don pleaded. “A truckload of them.”

Charlie chuckled and left to get his pills. By the time he returned, Don’s headache had settled into a consistent, dull pounding. He held out his hand and frowned at the single pain pill Charlie had placed on his palm.

“Really?” Don grouched. “My head is splitting in half and you give me one pill?”

“Two will make you too groggy. You could fall asleep and drown.”

“One won’t even take the edge off. C’mon, Charlie…”

“I’ll give you two, but you have to let me stay and keep an eye on you.”

Don impatiently waggled his fingers until a second pill joined the first, and then he swallowed them dry. “Just keep your eyes to yourself,” he warned. Charlie dutifully sat on the floor so they were at eye level with each other, and he washed as quickly as he could while his brother chatted to him about Larry and Megan and what was up with them, anyway? 

Don ignored the way his bath water was turning pink with blood, focusing instead on brother’s reassuring presence. He supposed things could be worse: he might be temporarily out of commission, but at least this way he could keep close tabs on Charlie.

Once he was towelled dry and wrapped up in a fluffy terry cloth housecoat, Charlie led him out to the living room where Alan had created a nest of pillows and blankets. As he walked, he listed to the side, and his brother had to hold him up - it was like his legs were made of licorice, and when he blinked, the world spun sickeningly. As soon as his head hit the pillow, Don let his eyelids droop, the soft sound of Charlie's and his dad's voices in the background lulling him almost instantly into a deep sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI; I suck at math. I did some research to help, but I don't know how accurate my math is in this story. I apologise to any math purists reading if I'm way off base.

Alan sat in the semi-darkness watching his oldest son twitch and frown in his sleep. Every once in a while his whole body would jerk and sometimes he mumbled, but Alan couldn't make out what he was saying. Whatever was going on in that troubled brain of his, it was making for a very restless sleep.

It was getting close to supper-time now, and Alan's stomach growled so loudly he feared it would wake Don up. He'd originally planned to wait and see if Don woke up and then make them both some soup and sandwiches - something easy on the stomach - but he was starting to think it might be best to just let him sleep. 

Either way, he still had to get something for himself to eat, and he'd have to bring food out to the garage for the troops that had converged there. Charlie had fielded phone calls all afternoon until they’d finally decided it would just be easier to move headquarters temporarily to the Eppes residence. Agent Edgerton had arrived about an hour ago and Alan had quietly redirected him to the garage. 

Alan was on the verge of giving in to his hunger and heading to the kitchen when Don started moaning and twisting in his blankets. His breathing sped up, like he was struggling or running, and then he awoke suddenly with a strangled shout.

"Charlie!" Don's eyes darted about the room, scanning it with field-trained efficiency before focusing on Alan. "Dad, where's Charlie?"

Alan held out his hands placatingly and answered as calmly as he could. "It's alright, Donny. Charlie's just gone out to the garage."

"What? No!" Don said, fighting to throw off his blankets. "I need to get to him!"

Alan was at a loss for what to do. He was worried his son was building himself up to another panic attack - something he felt ill-equipped to deal with. For some reason Don was worried about Charlie. Whether it was a real fear for his safety or just a remnant of his nightmare, Alan didn't know, but he thought it best to alleviate Don's immediate concerns.

"Charlie's fine, Don," he said. "He's got half the FBI crammed into that garage. Frankly, I think they're having a party and I wasn't invited." He tried on a smile, but Don wasn't in a joking mood, so he let it slip off his face. "Listen, Don...I don't know what the whole story is, and I understand that you can't talk about the case you're working on, but I do know that you came a few feet away from getting killed by a bomb today, so maybe you should think about taking it easy."

Don looked like he hadn't been paying attention at all; he was busy straightening out the couch and looking for something. Alan sighed - sometimes talking to Don was like talking to a brick wall. A very stubborn brick wall. 

''Will you at least let me fix you something to eat?" Alan asked.

Don blinked back at him, looking confused. "Where are my shoes?" he asked.

"You left them in the bathroom when you went for your bath. Don't you remember?" Alan didn't like how long it took his son to answer him.

"Yeah. Yeah, it's coming back to me, now," he said. "Are my clothes there, too?" he asked, plucking at his housecoat, as if he only just noticed he was wearing it.

"Charlie threw them out," Alan answered. "Are you sure you're feeling alright, Son? That was one hell of a bang you took to the head."

"I have some clothes in my old bedroom." And with that, Don was off, leaving Alan alone in the dark to worry.

***

 

Charlie had lost control. Or maybe he'd never had it in the first place and he'd only been fooling himself that he had. His garage - no, his sanctuary - had been overrun with FBI agents. It was utter chaos. People were talking over each other, trying to get their points across, and it looked like Edgerton was getting frustrated enough to wipe his hands clean of the situation and leave. 

He'd already mentally applied his friendship equation, or at least the part focusing on group dynamics, and concluded that the crux of the problem in this situation was that there were too many followers trying to fill the void left by an absent leader. What they needed was an alpha figure that everyone could agree was in charge. 

He'd have thought Jessop would be the natural shoe-in to take over from Don as alpha of the group, but despite his rank, he'd yet to gain the trust of the L.A. team, which was now causing a split between the two jurisdictions. And both Charlie and Ian were neutral forces and as such held little sway over the group. When the dischord reached shouting-match levels, Charlie shared a sympathetic wince with Edgerton from across the room.

Over the din of raised voices, a familiar one suddenly cut through the noise. "Hey, hey, hey! What the hell's going on here?"

All eyes turned towards the door where Don stood, pale as a spectre with his arms braced against the door frame for support. His hair was a spiky mess above the bandages and he had on an old pair of sweats and a t-shirt, yet he still managed to gain instant control over the room. It brought a smile to Charlie's lips - he was so proud of his brother at that moment that he could hug the stuffing out of him.

"I'm out of commission for one afternoon and this is what happens? You're acting like a bunch of fifth-graders, for God's sake!" Dark, angry eyes swept over the gathered agents and seemed to soften as they alighted on Charlie. "Jessop - you want to bring me up to speed?" Properly chastised, the rest of the team stood down and let the New York team leader do the talking.

"Some new developments: the medical examiner's report came back on the warehouse and pub victims. Both of the younger boys had bruising around the throat, indicating that they were strangled, but the ME says that strangulation wasn't the cause of death. Also, there were layers of bruising, suggesting that they'd been strangled multiple times, dating back at least a couple of weeks prior to death."

"So the killer had been toying with them on and off during their captivity," Megan supplied. "Perhaps he killed boys along the way because he was frustrated that he couldn't kill the ones he'd kidnapped - he needed to keep them alive long enough to tell us his story."

"His story?" Don asked. He came in far enough to lean against the air hockey table. Charlie knew he was putting on a brave face for the others - he was too stiff and his face looked pinched, like he was in pain. Charlie fought the urge to kick everyone out so Don could get the rest he needed. The only thing that stopped him was that Don would be seriously pissed at him if he did.

"I believe our killer is telling us a story - one that he thinks we should already be familiar with. Or at least one that he thinks the two of you should be familiar with. For some reason you were the catalyst that started him on his killing spree. I think he came here specifically because he knew you'd be assigned his case, and he wanted you to get his message."

"Okay," Don cautiously agreed. "Any idea what that message might be? Other than 'I want you and your brother dead'?"

At Don's words, Charlie felt a jolt of anxiety rip through him, and he was intensely aware that most of the eyes in the room were now looking at him.

"I think the message is that he's jealous," Megan answered, drawing the room's attention back to her.

"Jealous of what?" Don asked.

"Of you and Charlie," she answered, peering over her glasses to send an apologetic glance his way. "He's jealous of your relationship, maybe because he had a similar relationship that ended badly or was damaging to him in some way. He sees what you have as something he was denied, and he wants to make you pay for it."

"But how..." Charlie said, startling himself with his own outburst. He hadn't meant to interrupt, but now all eyes were on him and he had no choice but to finish his thought. "How does he even know about us? It's not like we have any connections in New York City."

Megan shrugged. "Perhaps he's read 'The Attraction Equation'; he did leave that equation at the pub. Maybe that was his way of ensuring you were involved in the case."

Charlie thought about it. His book was on the bestsellers list. And that article in Vanity Fair mentioned that his brother was an FBI agent and even quoted Don saying that they were more than just brothers - they were friends. 

Then there were the photos on Charlie’s Facebook page of him and Don at the FBI baseball game. He loved those pictures - they really showed how close the two of them had become. And now those same pictures might be responsible for all those murdered children... Charlie's stomach churned uncomfortably.

Don seemed to sense his unease, and he gallantly moved the discussion on to a new topic. "How are we coming along on the cctv footage from the truck stops and the work shed from the warehouse murders?"

Jessop fielded the question. "Actually, we think we may have footage of the truck. The same 18 wheeler shows up at 19 of the stops Professor Eppes provided us with, and a traffic camera three blocks from the warehouse also shows it leaving the vicinity shortly after midnight on the night of the murders. In three of the videos a tall man dressed in a long black coat is seen entering and leaving the truck stop store, buying large quantities of supplies. The video is very poor quality, though, and it's too blurry to make out any facial details, but the man matches the general description given by the teacher at Jefferson Elementary."

Don looked his way, and Charlie knew what was coming. "Charlie, can you take a look at those videos? See if you can do that squishy thing with them?"

"Squish-squash," Charlie automatically corrected and then gave him a sympathetic smile. "Yeah...that’s not exactly the tool we need for this job. What we need here is something more along the lines of a Geometric Mean filter to clean up the blurriness of the video. I'll see what I can do."

"Agent Jessop, you think you can coordinate with local authorities to nail down any possible witnesses from the truck stops?"

"I've already got Mansfield working on it," Jessop said.

Don nodded his head in approval. "Good. Anyone else have anything to add?"

Charlie cleared his throat and tipped his head in the direction of Ian Edgerton. A slow smile spread across his brother's face as he acknowledged his old friend's presence. 

"Ian. I bet you're wondering what you're doing here?" Don said.

Ian returned the smile and pushed off from the wall he'd been leaning against. "As I understand it, I'm here to save your sorry asses."

Don chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the edges. "Wouldn't be the first time," he agreed. "I need you to give us the edge we need to turn the tables on this guy - he's had the advantage over us from the beginning, and I'm tired of it. If Megan's right then he's probably been watching us, to see how we're reacting to his messages."

"And I'm here to stalk your stalker," Ian concluded with a nod. 

"Got it in one," Don said. "Alright, everyone. It's been a very long day, and I need everyone on their top game tomorrow, so go home. That's an order."

Charlie assumed Don hadn't meant to include him in that order, because he had way too much to do. He followed David out of the garage, hoping to catch a ride with him to the FBI offices, but he only got as far as the koi pond before a hand clamped onto his shoulder, stopping him.

"Where do you think you're going?" Don asked. Charlie noted that the hand on his shoulder was now using him as a crutch, so he didn't pull away.

"I was going to check out the footage from the truck stops - start working on improving the images," he said.

"Not without me, you aren't," Don answered. 

"Don, you're in no shape to be following me around tonight. I'll be fine in your office - it's not like this guy's gonna jump me at FBI headquarters." Charlie crossed his arms over his chest and gave Don his best stubborn look.

"Not gonna happen. Not tonight, Charlie." Don rubbed a hand over his face, and he looked like a strong breeze could knock him over.

"Look," Charlie said, placatingly, "if you're that worried about me, then send someone with me. But the sooner I get started on the videos, the sooner we'll be able to ID this guy. Charlie waited while Don thought it over, and he saw the exact moment when his brother caved.

"Alright, you can go. I'll have Jessop go along with you." Don called Jessop over before Charlie could back out of it. As the tall scarecrow of a field agent loomed closer, Charlie could swear the guy was glowering at him, and he swallowed hard, desperately trying to look casual. Once again he had to remind himself that Jessop was one of the good guys.

***

 

The car ride was the epitome of awkwardness. From the passenger seat, Charlie kept stealing nervous glances at Jessop, who was clearly aware of how he was affecting him. He seemed to be rather smug about the fact that his presence made Charlie twitchy, and he made no effort to put him at ease with idle small talk. It was with great relief that Charlie saw they'd reached their destination - at least in Don's office there'd be other people around.

He rushed through security but got stuck in the elevator with Jessop, who, bizarrely, started humming. He wasn't humming a tune, so much as one long, steady tone. It was beyond creepy, and Charlie edged slowly away from the man until he bumped into the metal elevator wall with his shoulder. When he caught Jessop's eye, the man smiled back - and it was the furthest thing from a friendly smile Charlie had ever seen. As soon as the doors slid open enough for him to get through, Charlie was out of there. 

To his dismay, he saw that the offices were pretty much deserted, which made sense, now that Charlie remembered that it was dinner time. He wasted no time getting settled in one of the unoccupied cubicles, and Jessop was right on his heels, handing him the jump drive with the video files on it. But instead of backing away to give Charlie some space as he worked, he bent over Charlie's chair, looking over his shoulder, leaning annoyingly close to him the whole time. 

It was, by far, the tensest Charlie had ever been in front of a computer. Every time he typed in a new command, Jessop would grunt or hum or click his tongue, and as the minutes slowly crept past, Charlie's nerves began to fray until he'd finally reached his limit and he snapped.

"What is your problem?" Charlie asked, leaning as far away from the agent as his chair would allow. 

Cold, sharp eyes pinned Charlie in place as Jessop studied him. It made Charlie wish he'd kept his big mouth shut.

"My problem, Professor Eppes, is you." Jessop leaned in further, making Charlie shift in his seat to get away.

"Excuse me?" Charlie squeaked, not really believing what he'd heard. A cold ball formed in his stomach and he had a flashback to when he was in high school, being bullied by the older kids in his class.

Jessop straightened up, looming over Charlie and looking down his nose at him. "You're a goddamn liability - you shouldn't even be on this case. From what I've seen, you've done nothing to help, and you're dragging the rest of the team down with you. You know what you are? You're the cute little mascot that everyone panders to, and your brother's the worst offender. He doesn't so much as sneeze without consulting you first, and the thought that you might be a target has him wound up so tight that he can't function worth a damn. If this case has become too personal for him then he should do the right thing and step down, and he should do us all a favour and take you with him. You have no idea how frustrating it is, watching you and your brother screw up this investigation, knowing that I would have solved this case days ago if I'd been in charge."

Charlie gaped up at the man, completely lost for words. All logical argument had vanished from his emotionally charged brain and to his utter embarrassment, he felt hot tears begin to prick at his eyes and he had to blink them away.

Jessop gave an ugly smirk. "Afraid of your own damn shadow, too. And I just bet you're gonna go crying to your big brother now. You're so wet behind the ears you can't even handle a little criticism."

Avoiding Jessop's withering glare, Charlie took a quick glance back at the computer screen to check the program's progress. It was running smoothly - he could leave it to run its course overnight, and by the morning they'd have a workable image. He really didn't need to stay... Decision made, Charlie abruptly stood and backed away from Jessop.

His voice cracked as he said, "the program's up and running, so if I'm not needed..." He checked over his shoulder, making sure he had a clear path to the elevator.

"Well, what d'you know - the kid really is a genius." Jessop goaded and gave a harsh snort of laughter as Charlie scrambled to clear up the desk and make his escape.

Charlie couldn't get out of there fast enough. He was practically vibrating with his barely contained anger and embarrassment. He was literally seeing red, he was so angry, and he couldn't keep his hands from shaking as he reached out to press the call button for the elevator. What was worse was that Jessop was right - his first instinct was to go crying to Don. Even though he knew it was the logical thing to do - Don needed to know his authority was in question - Jessop's comment made him feel like a coward for even considering it. 

He was halfway to the front door when he realised he was alone. Don was going to be pissed at him for leaving without backup, but there was no way he was going to call up David, Megan or Colby and beg them for a ride. And there was no way in hell he was going to go back and get Jessop to drive him. He'd just have to take a taxi.

He pushed through the front doors into the muggy evening air, breathing in deep in an attempt to calm himself down. The walkway leading to the Main Street was deserted with the exception of a young couple, laughing and hugging under a streetlamp. The woman had long, wavy black hair like Amita, which only served to remind him of his other recent failure, compounding Charlie's dark mood. 

Charlie scowled to himself and walked a ways down the street to flag a taxi. He'd expected to have a long wait, but there was one a short distance away, idling. He assumed there was someone in it, or it was waiting for a pre-arranged fare, but when he looked inside, there was no one in the backseat. He leaned in through the passenger side window and saw that the driver was just sitting there reading a book. Probably on a break.

"Hi," Charlie said, interrupting him. "Are you free?"

The man looked up at Charlie, then, and the sight of his face sent a shock through him. He was an older man - maybe late sixties or early seventies - but he was sturdy-looking, and one side of his face was badly scarred from an old burn. Charlie mentally chastised himself for letting the man's looks disturb him; he was brought up better than that.

"Hop on in," the man replied with a smile.

Charlie returned the smile and climbed into the back, sighing with relief now that he was heading home. He debated on whether or not he should call Don, and then wondered if he might be able to sneak into his own house without his brother noticing. Charlie's thoughts were in turmoil, torn between wanting to bury his head in the sand and wanting Don to rip Jessop a new one. The cabbie kept up a steady stream of banter the whole way, but Charlie hardly heard a word of it, merely grunting or nodding where he thought it was appropriate. It might have been rude, but he had too much on his mind to be sociable.

The next thing he knew, the cab was pulling up in front of his house. Charlie dug out a couple of twenties and told the driver to keep the change, and just as he was closing the car door, the driver turned to him with a friendly smile.

"Thank-you. Have a nice night, Charlie," he said, and drove off.

Charlie felt like the ground had disappeared from beneath his feet and he was free-falling. He knew he hadn't told the driver his name, and now that he thought back, he realised he'd been so lost in his thoughts when he got in the cab that he hadn't told him his address, either. 

He'd just spent the last fifteen minutes alone in a cab with a serial killer.


	8. Chapter 8

Don was sitting on the couch across from his dad, a chess board between them on the coffee table. He was finding it hard to concentrate for any length of time, and Alan was beating him soundly. Although he refused to admit it, he was starting to feel his eyes get heavy, which was ridiculous, since he'd only been awake for a couple of hours.

The sound of the front door opening saved him from the embarrassment of losing for a third time in a row. He craned his neck to look over his shoulder, surprised to see Charlie back so soon. 

He took one look at his brother and he was at his side before the decision to move had fully formed in his head. Charlie was pale as a sheet and the look on his face...it was the same look he'd seen on Randall's face in the playground that morning, and it was something Don never wanted to see again for as long as he lived.

"Charlie?" he asked in a hushed voice, aware that their father was only a few steps behind him.

Charlie looked in his eyes, and the hollow dread Don saw there sent a sympathetic chill up his spine. "I saw him... I was in his cab - he drove me home. Don - he knows where I live!" Charlie's Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard against his fear, and he turned his eyes down to stare at the floor.

Don gripped his brother by the shoulders and waited until Charlie met his eyes again. "Charlie, it's okay. Just calm down."

"What is it? What's wrong?" Alan asked, coming up and wrapping an arm around his youngest, herding him into the nearest chair.

Charlie looked so small, sitting there looking up at them. His gaze kept coming back to Don, the unspoken question of what he could say in front of their dad coming through loud and clear. Don nodded in understanding.

"Dad, can we have a minute alone?" he asked, hating the hurt look on his dad's face and the resignation that followed.

"Oh. Of course. I'll...I'll just be over there. If you need me." Alan said, and slouched his way back to the living room. Don groaned quietly, dreading the apology he would now have to make to appease his father.

Once Alan was out of hearing range, Don crouched down in front of Charlie and spoke to him quietly. "Okay, Charlie, tell me from the beginning. What happened?"

Charlie's fingers were clutching his knees so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. He took a steadying breath, keeping his eyes locked on his hands even after he started talking. "Okay; first off, that Jessop guy is a complete dick. He purposely got on my nerves, which made it almost impossible to work on the video enhancement, and when I confronted him about it... let's just say he's not a big fan of mine. Or yours, for that matter. He said things - horrible, humiliating things - and stupidly, I let it get to me. 

"All I could think about was getting away from him, and I took off. I know it was stupid. I know I should have called you, but I wasn't thinking. I got into a cab that was parked out front, and I was so upset I didn't even notice that he hadn't asked me where we were going. And yet, he dropped me off here, and before he drove away, he said, 'have a good night, Charlie'. I never told him my name, Don - he knew who I was."

Don frowned, taking in all the information his brother had thrown at him. A spike of anger over Jessop's behaviour threatened to steal focus, but he reminded himself that there was a much bigger fish to fry.

"And you got a good look at this guy?" he asked.

Charlie nodded, some of his colour coming back now that the shock was starting to wear off. "I looked him square in the eye. Twice. I'll be seeing that face in my nightmares for years."

"Okay. I'm taking you back to my office and we're gonna go through some mug shots - there's no way this son of a bitch doesn't have a record." Don was all set to take off, but Charlie's hand tugged at his sleeve, holding him back.

"Don... do you think maybe we should tell Dad?" Charlie asked, his voice dropping to a whisper.

Don didn't have to think about it. "Absolutely not. Now let's get moving - I want get you looking through photos while the memory's still fresh." With a steadying hand on his brother's arm, Don got Charlie up onto his wobbly feet and helped him towards the door.

"What? You're leaving?" Alan asked from the living room couch. "Don't you think Charlie's had enough for one night, Don?"

It was a low blow, going for the guilt trip, and Don had to bite his tongue to keep from snapping back at him. "We won't be long," he said through clenched teeth.

The SUV was parked on the street, and in the short time it took to get from the house to the car, Don had gone through a dozen ambush scenarios in his head, quickly mapping out the most likely places for someone to lay in wait in the vicinity of his childhood home. The place was a logistical nightmare - there were far too many bushes and trees, and the surrounding houses only provided more cover for a possible attack. He manhandled Charlie into the passenger seat of the SUV, keeping his eyes on his surroundings as he rounded the vehicle to get in on the other side.

Charlie was disturbingly quiet as Don drove the familiar route to his office, and he stayed silent as they walked through the federal building, Charlie two steps behind him, like he was using Don as a personal shield. He knew his brother was reticent about returning to his office in case they ran into Jessop. Secretly, Don hoped they did, so he could give him the dressing down he deserved. Don clenched his fists, the tension that had been building over the last several days wanting to come out in the form of violence, and right now, Jessop's face was sounding like the perfect target.

Don shook his head and glanced at his watch, not because he needed to know the time, but because the habit was ingrained in him. As they walked past the conference room, Don stopped in his tracks. David, Colby and Megan were all in there, going over the data from the bombing on one of the whiteboards. They were too distracted to notice that they had an audience.

Don cleared his throat and three startled faces turned to look at him. "I thought I told you all to go home. In fact, I'm pretty sure I made it an order."

Colby was the first one to pipe up. "We did go home. But then we got bored and decided to come here."

"Bomb squad sent over the crime scene photos and their preliminary findings," David added, with only a hint of guilt on his face.

"And Charlie's video filter is doing its thing. I wanted to be here when it finished. I need to get a look at this bastard,” Megan said, all wide-eyed and innocent.

Don caved. "Fine. Whatever. Actually that's why we're here. Charlie got a good look at our killer tonight - he's gonna look through some mug shots so we can get an ID on this guy."

Don felt Charlie slide in close behind him, like he was taking cover from the curious looks his team were throwing his way. Normally he would have been annoyed by the clinginess, but right now, with everything that was going on, it felt good knowing exactly where his brother was. He was about to bring Charlie to his office so he could get to work, when Charlie suddenly broke free and headed directly for the whiteboard. 

"Do we know the blast radius of the bomb from this morning?" Charlie asked, peering closely at the pictures taken at the school yard. 

Don had a hard time looking at the photos without flashing back to the blast and the aftermath that followed, but his brother was engrossed, his fingers dancing over the gruesome images as if they could take measurements that way. With Charlie, maybe such a thing was possible, Don mused.

Megan flipped through one of the files on the table, skimming through it until she came to the relevant data. She handed the file over to Charlie, who studied it, frowning, then went back to the photo. Twice more, he looked at the data and compared it to the pictures, each time his frown getting deeper.

"This isn't right," he said at last.

"Whaddaya mean, it's not right?" asked Don.

"If you take into consideration the open location, the quantity and positioning of the semtex on the vest Eric was wearing and numerous other factors like the bomb’s height off the ground and the combined mass of the two boys...Don, this blast should have been twice as big as it was."

Don thought about it for a moment. "Unless...Charlie, what if only some of the semtex on the vest was real? How much would it take to create a blast radius that size?"

Charlie's eyes lit up as his brain went into high gear, doing the math. "If a third of what we see on the vest was real semtex, evenly distributed with fake explosives, then that would account for the smaller blast radius."

"That means our killer is still in possession of two thirds of the semtex stolen from that military base," Don mused aloud.

"Can I see the file on the pub murders?" Charlie asked Megan, who nodded, seeing where he was going with it before Don clued in himself. She thumbed through the stack of files and handed him the one he'd asked for.

"Well?" Don asked after a tense minute of watching his brother scour through the file's information.

"Let me just..." Charlie began, then grabbed a whiteboard marker and began writing on one of the glass wall panels. "The equation on the wall above the bodies - it was a message, but we only just now got the key to interpret it."

As his brother finished writing and stepped back from the glass, he looked around expectantly at the others before turning that focus on Don. Don shrugged, and he was pretty sure he was speaking for everyone when he asked, "and what does the message say?"

Charlie circled one section of the equation. "An 80% solution of hydrofluoric acid! We had all the information we needed - we just didn't know what was relevant. Don't you see?" he said, starting to get frustrated that they weren't seeing it as clearly as he did. "The equation tells us the rate at which HF will corrode metal. We saw the results, and we know the purity of the solution used - what he was hinting at with the equation was the missing data - the quantity he used! To achieve the results we documented, he only needed half of the HF that was reported stolen."

Don saw the moment when everyone in the room was on the same page as Charlie. "Alright. So he held back some of the semtex and hydrofluoric acid that he stole, so he must be planning on using it later," Don said. "Well, that at least gives us an idea of what he might be planning. Right now, though, we've got a killer to ID. Charlie?"

Charlie dutifully put down the marker and followed him out of the conference room. Don noticed that his brother was much more at ease, now, and that, in turn, made Don feel better. Although he still planned on tearing into Jessop the next time their paths crossed.


	9. Chapter 9

Charlie sat down at Don's desk, staring at the computer screen as his brother set up the search parameters in the mug shot database. Factoring in things like location, age range, race and eye colour, there were still a surprisingly large number of pictures to go through. Charlie started scrolling through the pictures, slowing when there was even a passing resemblance to the cabbie. 

Don was there the whole time, pacing behind him or leaning against Charlie's chair, but unlike Jessop earlier that evening, Charlie found his brother's presence comforting. Like having a guard dog walking the perimeter and occasionally coming up for attention. That thought made Charlie smile, and that got Don's attention.

"What is it? Did you find him?" Don asked, leaning over his shoulder to look at the image on the screen.

Charlie turned his head, his nose bumping Don's jaw hard enough to make his eyes water. "Ow! Do you mind?" he said, nudging at Don's shoulder to get him out of his hair. "No, I haven't found him yet. I just thought of something funny, that's all."

Don straightened up, hands on hips and gave him the same look he often gave Colby or David. "Well quit goofing around - you've got a lot of shots to get through."

Charlie shook his head in exasperation, but didn't point out that it was Don who was slowing him down. Instead, he got back into the groove of scrolling through photos. One after another, the faces all started to blend together, and the general lack of sleep he'd suffered over the last week wasn't helping him focus. 

Charlie spared a glance at Don when he hadn't pestered him in a while, and saw that he'd crouched down against the far wall, his bandaged head cradled in his arms. By the look of it, his brother was sleeping; though how he managed to do it in that position was a mystery. 

Charlie felt a pang of guilt - he'd been the one to point out earlier that Don was in no shape to be following him around all night, and yet at the first sign of danger, Charlie had hauled him out and used him as his personal bodyguard. The poor guy was wrung out, wounded and running on fumes, and yet there he was, keeping watch over Charlie like he always did.

Megan chose that moment to appear at the door. She took one look at Don, her face etched with sympathy, before gently shaking her boss awake. Bleary brown eyes blinked open and Don rubbed at his face and groaned.

"Did I fall asleep?" he asked.

"If the snoring was anything to go by, then I'd say yes, you did," Megan joked and offered Don a hand up.

"I don't snore," Don said.

"Well we both know that's not true," Charlie retorted.

"Shut up," Don complained, tenderly probing the back of his head with a wince.

"Need one of your pills?" Charlie asked.

"No, I'm good. I need to stay alert," Don said.

"Yeah, we could tell," Megan replied, tongue in cheek, making Charlie smirk. 

"Ha ha. That's nice - make fun of the man with a head injury. I just meant...never mind," Don gave up in the face of Charlie's grin and Megan's chortle.

"I thought I'd come by and see how Charlie's making out," said Megan.

Charlie groaned. "I had no idea there were so many convicted felons over the age of fifty-five in New York."

"Just take your time - don't rush yourself - you don't wanna have to go through them all over again because you missed him the first time around." Megan said. "You boys want some coffee? I got a fresh pot going."

Now it was Don's turn to groan, but his was a distinctly happy one. "Megan, I could kiss you!" he said.

"Sorry, Don - already spoken for," Megan replied and retreated into the bullpen.

Charlie felt Don lean against the back of his chair, felt his heavy sigh ruffle his hair and he craned his head to look up at his big brother. "Don, you're beat - why don't you go home and get some rest? As you can see, I'm not exactly alone, here."

"I'll stay," Don answered, giving Charlie's shoulder a squeeze. "I wanna be here when you ID him."

Charlie nodded and went back to the mug shots. He understood Don's need to see the face of the man who'd been casting a shadow over their lives since this case began. "Will you at least grab a chair, then? I'm worried you're gonna fall asleep on your feet and squash me when you fall over."

That earned him a playful cuff to the back of his head, but Don took his advice and dragged another chair into his office so he could sit next to him.

A few minutes later, Megan showed up again with coffee for both of them, for which they thanked her profusely. And another few minutes later they were joined by Ian Edgerton, who'd been called in for the big unveiling. David and Colby were hot on his tail, and soon Don's office was crammed full, with people coming and going, bringing in food and talking about the case. Despite the distractions, Charlie was grateful to have everyone around. It reminded him of some of his late night study groups at Princeton, where everyone did more partying than work.

Charlie was listening to Ian telling Colby about his newest rifle and Colby gushing back at him like a schoolgirl with a crush, and he almost scrolled right past the mug shot he'd been sitting there for hours waiting to find.

"Um... Guys - I found him," he said. The quiet muttering abruptly stopped and Charlie found himself surrounded on all sides.

The man on the screen was a lot younger than the one he'd met in the cab, but it was definitely the same face. Even without the facial scarring, there was no mistaking him. 

"Richard Weiss," Don read from the screen. "David, I want to know everything there is to know about this guy, and I wanna know yesterday."

"On it," David answered, copying the information on the screen into his notebook before taking Colby with him.

"So...this is the guy in my crosshairs?" Ian asked Charlie.

"Yeah...only about thirty years older and with a really bad burn mark covering half his face." Charlie replied, frowning at the screen. For some reason, the name sounded familiar. But then, Weiss was a pretty common name.

"Burn mark?" Megan asked. 

Charlie shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. "Yeah. A really nasty one," Charlie added, using his hand to show how much of Weiss' face was affected.

"You thinking that might have something to do with him using acid on his victims?" Don surmised.

"It would make sense," Megan agreed, chewing the inside of her cheek as she mentally adjusted her psychological profile of their killer. “If he was burned with acid, using it on his victims might seem to him like a means of conveying his story to you - to help you understand him. I think he sees himself as the victim, here, and these killings are his way of getting justice.”

Don’s face scrunched up in disgust at Weiss’ idea of justice, and Charlie was sure he had the same look on his own face. What kind of warped maniac thought killing innocent kids could provide justice?

“I thought I’d find you all here,” a voice came from behind them. Through the gathered crowd, Charlie caught sight of Mansfield standing at the door of Don’s office. Charlie shrank back into his seat, making himself as small a target as possible. He knew it was Jessop who had it out for him, but Mansfield was his right-hand man, and had shown himself to be very loyal to his boss.

“You find any witnesses from the rest stops?” Don asked, assuming that was why the agent had come to find him.

“No - our man was careful not to let anyone see his face. As far as we know, the CCTV footage is our best shot at ID-ing this guy.”

At some unspoken cue, Don’s team parted and let Mansfield have a look at the image of Richard Weiss on the computer screen. Charlie looked up at the New York agent apologetically and scooted out of the way to give him a better look.

“Yeah,” Don started. “I was about to call you in. Charlie had a run-in with our killer earlier this evening, and he just ID-ed him. I’ve got David and Colby looking into him now.”

Mansfield’s expression darkened as he scanned the faces of the other agents in the room. He clearly knew he and Jessop had been left out of the loop, and it also looked like he understood why. Still, Charlie had to give him credit, because instead of letting bad blood get in the way of their investigation, he visibly pushed his feelings aside to report the real reason he’d searched them out. 

"I've expanded our search for missing children, making it a blanket search across all states, and I think I found something," Mansfield said and moved over to the desk where he cleared a space and spread out two printouts. "These two boys, Andy and Francis McKay, were taken from a trailer park near Yellowstone - their parents said they were playing frisbee in the park and never came home. And these two - Cameron Pinkerton and Jacob West, were abducted from Disney World in Florida. None of the boys exactly fit our profile, and none of them were taken from cities or towns near the original set of murders, but..."

"But the ages are close and they're either brothers or were taken together," Megan concluded. "Perhaps these locations have a special meaning for Weiss."

"Or maybe he was taking in the sights," Mansfield half-joked. "Yellowstone, Disney World? Sounds like he was on some twisted sightseeing tour."

"Or just using popular tourist destinations as easy hunting grounds for children - with thick crowds and plenty of distractions, it would make kidnapping children in broad daylight much easier." 

"Okay," said Don, "So that means we're possibly looking at another two sets of victims, which still puts us shy of what Charlie predicted."

Charlie squirmed in his seat as an uncomfortable thought struck him. "I think it's probable that the last set of victims is intended to be us, Don," he said. There was a moment's silence as everyone internalised that thought.

The sound of Don's cell phone ringing broke the tension. He took the call, turning his back on everyone else to concentrate on the voice on the other end. And when he turned around, no one needed to ask what had happened. There'd been another murder.

"LAPD just got a call from a real estate agent who came across a murder scene at the house she was showing tonight. The description of the victims matched the family that went missing from the campground outside Tucson. Let's roll, everyone." 

As a newly energised group filed out the door, Don put a hand on Charlie's shoulder, keeping him from getting up. "I'm gonna have a couple of agents take you home - I don't want you anywhere near this crime scene, you got that?"

Charlie nodded mutely, remembering his close call from earlier. He wasn't about to take any more chances tonight. Don gave his shoulder a squeeze, looking him earnestly in the eyes as if deciding whether he was taking him seriously or not. He seemed to have passed the test, because his brother gave a quick nod and pushed off, following his team out the door.

Charlie was left alone, and he felt a brief spark of panic, until he saw Don talking to two agents - Rene and Pete, he thought their names were - and sending them his way. He was glad it was men he'd at least met before - he didn't like the idea of being around strangers for the rest of the night.

After sharing a few mumbled greetings, Charlie led the way towards the elevator. The ride to the parking level was filled with light conversation about basketball, and although Charlie wasn't in the mood to join in, he appreciated the attempt to make him feel at ease. 

As the elevator doors slid apart, Rene took point, checking out the immediate area for threats. Charlie thought it was a bit much, but felt better for the extra precaution nonetheless. When he deemed it all clear, he motioned Charlie and Pete to follow him towards a line of dark, non-descript sedans, their footsteps echoing throughout the parkade. They got into the third one down the line, only to find that the engine wouldn't turn over. 

Pete told Charlie to stay put and he got out of the car to check under the hood. Charlie did as he was told without question, getting a really bad feeling about the situation. As it turned out, he had every reason to feel anxious, because a moment later everything went to hell. 

There was the sound of a gunshot, made louder by the cavernous concrete parking lot. Rene was shouting at him to get down, and Charlie immediately hunkered down, rolling up into a ball in the footwell of the back seat. The car rocked and a door slammed. Another two gunshots exploded nearby, and then there was a hissing sound as stinging smoke filled the car.

Charlie coughed, covering his mouth and nose with a fistful of his t-shirt, but the precaution proved inadequate and the world became fuzzy and distant until everything finally went black.


	10. Chapter 10

Don squinted against the bright lamps set up by the crime scene unit. His head hadn't stopped pounding since he woke up in the hospital, but he was doing his best to ignore the constant thumping pain. He was also aware of the fact that he wasn't exactly at the top of his game. His brain felt sluggish, like he'd had a few too many, and he had to really concentrate to follow what people were saying to him.

The tableau in front of him was decidedly disturbing, made worse by the addition of a third victim. It was Bill Marsters and his boys, Austin and Zachary, displayed on a blue tarpaulin spread out in the middle of a large, opulently furnished living room. Once again, the boys were bound one on top of the other in a sick mockery of passion, only this time Weiss had gone the extra mile by having the older boy actually penetrating the younger one. Whether it was done post mortem or not had yet to be determined, but Don had the uneasy feeling that they'd been forced to sexually perform in front of their father.

And the father... 

Weiss had duct-taped a .45 to his hand and then taped the barrel to his head, pointed up under his chin. Bill Marsters' skull and brains were spread out across the floor and furniture behind him - a suicide. Perhaps it was enough just watching what the twisted bastard was doing to his kids to make him blow his own brains out - or maybe it was the physical torture - the multiple lacerations and burn marks across his bare chest and the broken fingers - that did it in the end.

The deep, baritone voice of Agent Jessop cut through Don's thoughts, and a red-hot anger swelled up in him. He turned on his heels to face the approaching man, pulling him aside before he could get a good look at the victims.

"We need to have a talk," Don said, leading Jessop out into the marble-floored foyer of the massive house. As soon as they were alone, Jessop cut in before Don could get a word out.

"Let me guess; this is about the chat I had with your brother, am I right?" Jessop said, arms folded as if daring Don to make something of it. Don hated being challenged, and being challenged by an asshole just added fuel to the fire.

"You've got some balls, you know that?" Don said, his voice hushed, eyes squinted into a hard line. "You come here, asking for my help, and then lay into an FBI consultant who's responsible for more closed cases in the last three years than you've had in the last twenty. Never mind that he's my brother - and I take great exception with you making an issue out of that - you're here because I've allowed you to be here, and as far as I'm concerned, we'd all be better off without you undermining our efforts. Consider yourself off the case."

Jessop smirked at him, his eyes humourless and hard. "Funny; I was about to say the same thing to you," he said. 

"Excuse me?"

"I just came from having a heart-to-heart with the D.A., and he agreed with me that you're too close to this case. Being a potential target, you and your brother should be under protective custody - hell, you should still be in hospital, not running point on this investigation. Face it - you're stalled on this one, and nothing's gonna change unless someone less emotionally compromised takes over."

Don felt his blood pressure rising, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he physically restrained himself from decking the smug bastard. "And I suppose that someone is you?"

"According to the D.A., yes." Jessop said. "If you don't believe me, why don't you give him a call?"

Don pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket and did just that. The conversation was short and blunt, and the D.A.'s confirmation left him no room to argue with Jessop. Feeling deflated and more tired than he could ever remember feeling before, he snapped his phone shut and faced the man who'd kicked him when he was down.

"Fine. The case is yours," he said, his energy flagging as the fight drained out of him. 

Jessop sighed and his face softened somewhat. "Look. I'm sorry it had to go down this way. If it makes you feel better, I'll keep you in the loop, alright? Now go home and get some sleep - you look like you're dead on your feet, Eppes."

Don simply nodded, his lips pressed tight against the desire to really speak his mind. The D.A. had made it pretty clear that any interference on his part would not go over well, and he couldn't risk Jessop making a complaint against him. In the morning he'd go down to the D.A.'s office and plead his case, but he simply wasn't up to it tonight. 

As he turned to make his way back to his car he passed Edgerton, who gave him a knowing nod. He'd heard the conversation and he had his back. It may not be much, but at least he knew Ian was on his side and would keep to their plan.

***

 

Alan Eppes sat in his easy chair feeling completely un-easy. He had the phone next to him, half expecting it to ring and fearing that it could only be bad news about one of his boys. Whatever was going on with them, it was taking its toll. It made him feel helpless, needing to help but not knowing how. When the doorbell rang, Alan nearly jumped out of his skin. The doorbell was not good: only really bad news was relayed in person.

Rubbing his suddenly sweating hands on his jeans, He got up and went to the door. Habit had him peeking through the window first, but all he could make out was a darkly-dressed figure with white hair. It wasn't anyone he recognised from Don's office, and he let out a sigh of relief as he opened the door.

In an instant, his whole life was turned upside down. Frozen in shock, Alan could do nothing but stare at the face of the monster who'd haunted his dreams since his childhood. He was older and his face was half-destroyed, but the eyes were the same - dark and flinty, and not quite sane.

He was still frozen in place, barely able to breathe, when his uncle's hand reached out for his throat and he was slammed up against the wall. A sharp pain pinched the skin at his neck and within seconds Alan's world went dark.

***

 

Charlie's head was pounding. For a moment, that was the only thing his still-waking brain could focus on. But as the pounding receded, Charlie started remembering what had happened, and his whole body jerked and thrashed in his sudden desperate need to escape. His eyes flew open when he realised he couldn't move his arms, and it confirmed his fears - he was tied down; his wrists were tightly strapped to the bedposts of the bed he was lying on. It looked like the kind of plastic zip ties used to seal cargo totes. He tried tugging on them, but the plastic just dug more deeply into his skin.

Fighting against his growing panic, Charlie quickly took stock. He couldn't yell - his mouth was gagged - and wherever he was, it was pretty dark, which made it difficult to get his bearings. He strained his eyes, making out the vague outline of a window with the blinds drawn, and the hulking black shapes of furniture - what could be a dresser and a bedside table. It also looked like there could be a chair in front of the window. As his eyes slowly adjusted, he thought the room's setup looked familiar; with the exception of the chair in front of the window, it looked like Don's bedroom. Which meant he was in Don's apartment.

Charlie tried shouting around the gag in his mouth, both hoping and fearing that Don might hear him. Because if Don was here, too, then he was either saved or they were both in danger. When there was no answer, he sagged back down on the mattress. He was alone. Tied and gagged and abandoned in his brother's apartment; Charlie knew instinctively where this was headed, and he renewed his struggles, putting all his energy into freeing himself.

After several minutes of thrashing around, yanking on his bonds and shouting himself hoarse behind his gag, Charlie flopped helplessly back onto the bed. He could feel something warm trickling down his arms and knew that the plastic ties had cut into his wrists enough to draw blood. For all his efforts, he'd accomplished absolutely nothing, and in his despair, Charlie let the tears fall, hot and fast, soaking into Don's pillow as he silently prayed to a God he didn't really believe existed.

The sound of keys in the lock of Don's apartment door set off a new bout of panic. His breathing ratcheted up, adrenaline kicking in and making his heart pound in his ears. From the living room, he heard someone moving around, and he fought the urge to call out, knowing there was a very good chance it wasn't Don.

The lights came on in the hall outside Don's bedroom, squeezing through the cracks around the door to provide just a fraction more illumination. Charlie could now make out the shape of the family photo sitting on top on Don's dresser, next to what looked like a large box. He could also make out the silhouette of the lamp on the bedside table, and a blocky lump that could have been an unplugged alarm clock. Nothing helpful, and nothing he could conceivably reach even if they were.

There was a dragging, thumping sound heading towards the bedroom, and Charlie turned wide eyes towards the door, his breathing now nearly frantic as the doorknob turned and the light from the hallway spilled through the open doorway. The backlit shape of his kidnapper filled the frame, his back hunched slightly as he dragged a body behind him. 

Without warning, the overhead light snapped on - the brightness temporarily blinding Charlie. When he could see clearly again, he couldn't help the sob from rising up from his throat: his kidnapper - the serial killer they'd been hunting for almost two weeks - was dragging his father's limp body across the room by his collar. 

Weiss proceeded to haul him onto the chair next to the bed. His dad's head lolled against his chest as Weiss used the same kind of zip ties he'd used on Charlie's wrists to strap down his arms and legs. Charlie could only hope that his father was still alive and wasn't just being staged for whoever was going to find their bodies.

Once his father was fixed in position, Weiss finally turned his attention to Charlie, his gaze cold and calculating as he sized him up. Charlie reluctantly locked eyes with him, his lungs burning as they demanded more air than he could possibly drag in through his nose. 

As Weiss took a seat on the edge of Don's bed, Charlie flinched away, struggling to put some distance between them. It was his first mistake. With the speed of a snake striking out at its prey, Weiss' hand shot out and slammed into Charlie's throat, pinning his head against the pillow in a choking hold. 

Charlie’s legs bucked in his desperation to shake him off, but Weiss was stronger than he looked and Charlie was rapidly running low on oxygen the longer he struggled.

"I see you're anxious to play," Weiss said, almost casually, as he squeezed Charlie’s throat a little tighter. "I was going to wait until your brother arrived...but that could be a while. In the meantime, I'm sure we can find a way to keep ourselves occupied."

Weiss’ hand was suddenly gone and Charlie manically tried to suck enough air in through his nose to inflate his depleted lungs. Acid panic fired through his veins as blackness encroached along the periphery of his vision. It took several terrifying breaths for him to come back from the edges of a complete blackout.

When he’d calmed down enough to breathe normally again, Charlie’s attention returned to Weiss, who’d hefted a duffle bag from the floor onto the foot of the bed. The sound of the zipper was strangely loud - the only other sound being Charlie's own ragged breathing and the frantic drumming of his heartbeat in his ears.

"Now...where to begin." Weiss slowly folded back the top flap of the bag and lifted out a thick, canvas roll, which he placed on the dresser behind him where Charlie couldn't see it. He then pulled out something that Charlie recognised immediately - a bomb vest like the one from the playground, only this one was bigger, and he was pretty sure none of the semtex was fake this time. Weiss placed the vest carefully on Alan's lap, the still-unconscious man none-the-wiser.

"Normally I would take great care in choosing a location and making sure not to leave any evidence behind...of course, you and your brother have been hunting me, so I'm sure you already knew that...but this time, there's really no need for such precautions. I find it very...freeing." 

Charlie followed Weiss' movements closely, watching strong, calloused hands lift one shiny tool after another out of the large duffle bag and place them gently onto the canvas roll behind him. Most of them looked surgical, and sharp as hell. Other things, like a nail gun and a pair of pliers, were more frightening in that their purpose here was unknown, and his imagination was filling in the gaps with ideas too horrific to consider.

Once everything was spread out to Weiss' satisfaction, he started to strip - first his coat and boots, and then, slowly, the rest of his clothes, folding them neatly and placing them in a pile next to the chair. He was watching Charlie the whole time, gauging his reaction, and he seemed pleased at the fear he was engendering. 

As the last piece of clothing joined the pile, Charlie's gaze travelled almost against his will down the length of his kidnapper's body, to find that it wasn't just Weiss' face that had been badly disfigured by acid. Charlie grimaced as he took in the scarred nub that was all that remained of his captor’s manhood.

"What's the matter, Charlie? Don't like what you see?" Weiss snarled at him before gripping Charlie's jaw in his hand, forcing him to look at his face. "I've spent the vast majority of my life behind bars, and I have your father to blame for that. You know what that lying piece of shit said? He told them I raped him - that I forced him into a relationship against his will! It was all lies!" 

Weiss was shouting now, and he'd backed off and was pacing between Charlie and his father. "We were in love! And he twisted the truth and made me sound like a monster! 

“Do you know what they do to child molesters in prison? The pain I suffered? The humiliation? I was almost killed, more than once! But then I learned how to fight back. Prison taught me how to kill, It made me strong - but more importantly it taught me patience, and over time I began planning for the day I'd be released. Oh, and it's been a glorious ride since then!"

Weiss' eyes burned into Charlie with a madness that made his skin crawl. There was an almost feral look of desire on Weiss' face as he stopped his pacing and picked up what looked like a scalpel from off the dresser. He approached Charlie, the blade balanced in his hand like he'd done this many times before, and eyed him like he was a blank canvas awaiting a splash of colour.

Charlie froze, his muscles tight with tension as the killer climbed onto the bed, straddling his hips. He didn't dare move with the knife coming closer and closer. He could feel his own pulse beating rapidly in his throat and his brain, unhelpfully, calculated how quickly he would bleed out if Weiss took that scalpel to his carotid artery. 

With the tiniest hitch of relief, Charlie realised that cutting his throat wasn't what Weiss had in mind. Instead, Charlie felt him grip his t-shirt, pulling it away from his skin as the blade easily sliced through it from collar to hem, leaving his chest bare. Next he sliced the length of his sleeves and yanked the remains of his shirt out from under him. 

Weiss splayed his hand over Charlie’s chest, his fingers mapping out ribs and sternum with cold detachment. Once satisfied that he’d found the perfect spot, Weiss poised the scalpel over Charlie’s heart. The cold metal of the scalpel traced a stinging 'x' through his flesh and he turned his head away, eyes squeezed shut. 

He told himself it was a good thing that it stung - a deeper cut would have severed the nerve endings and wouldn't have hurt as badly, which meant this was a shallow cut, designed to inflict more pain than damage.

Charlie waited, eyes still firmly shut, for the next slice of the scalpel. He didn't think it was possible for him to feel this much fear and still live, and to his shame, he felt warmth spreading outwards from his crotch and he knew he'd wet his pants.

Weiss growled and Charlie received a fast punch to the face, hitting him on the left cheekbone hard enough to daze him. "You filthy, filthy boy! Now I'm going to have to clean you up."

Charlie's eyes flew open when he felt Weiss yanking roughly at his belt. His jeans were swiftly ripped off his legs along with his underwear and socks, leaving his damp skin bare to the chilly air-conditioned air. Weiss took the remains of his clothes and stormed out of the bedroom, leaving Charlie alone with his unconscious father, who was showing no signs of waking up anytime soon. 

Charlie did the only thing he could think to do - he started struggling again, ignoring the searing pain in his lacerated wrists as he twisted and pulled at the zip ties binding him to the bed.

He'd made absolutely no progress by the time Weiss returned carrying a washcloth and a bowl of soapy water, and Weiss took one look at the fresh blood trickling down Charlie's arm and gave him a stony glare that made the hair on the nape of his neck stand on end.

Weiss said nothing, setting the bowl down on the bedside table and then soaking the cloth. Charlie stared at the dripping cloth as it inched closer to his groin, feeling warm drops of water splatter onto his cold skin, making him shiver. Weiss' touch was gentle, which was far worse than the pain of the scalpel a few minutes earlier. The soapy cloth invaded places that he had no right touching, and he felt a little part of him die with every tender stroke.

"There. All better," Weiss said with a look of supreme satisfaction. The man's moods bounced around so much that Charlie couldn't begin to guess what to expect next. All he could do was keep perfectly still and pray that he'd lose interest. "Now...where was I?"

 

***

 

Don was driving to his brother's house, knowing full well he shouldn't be driving at all in the state he was in. All he really wanted to do was go home and sleep for two or three days. At this point he was actually relieved that he was off the case - his body was telling him in no uncertain terms that it was done.

When he pulled up to the old craftsman house, Don was a little surprised to find the lights were out. It wasn't even ten o'clock, and both his dad and Charlie were night hawks. With a mental shrug, Don let himself in, calling out his greeting to a clearly empty house. He flicked on the foyer lights and saw a note taped to the wall just underneath the switch. He snatched it off and read it:

Don,  
I'm off playing poker with the boys. I'll be late, so don't wait around for me. Charlie said he was gonna swing by your place with pizza for when you get home. Have a good night,  
Dad.

The thought of pizza made Don's stomach growl. In a way, he was glad his dad wasn't home. There was still the matter of an apology hanging over his head, and he wasn't really up to the challenge tonight. Mind made up, Don grabbed his keys out of his pocket and locked the house on his way out.


	11. Chapter 11

David Sinclair was trying to maintain the peace. Ever since his team had found out that Don had been taken off the case, the atmosphere was mutinous. On top of the fact that they were all run ragged and ready to drop, Jessop had started barking orders at them the minute they'd arrived on site.

And now there was a second call coming in about gunfire in the parkade of the FBI building, and a truck matching Weiss’ was spotted there, as well. Jessop had decided to split them up, taking Mansfield and Megan with him and leaving David and Colby to finish up at the house.

Before Megan headed out, She pulled David into a group huddle - Don's team only - and let them vent. Not surprisingly, it was Colby who was most heated on the subject of Don's usurpation, and it was up to David to rein him in.

"Does anyone really think Don’s in any condition to be working?" David asked. "I agree, Jessop went about it the wrong way, but under the circumstances, I think he was right - Don needs to be under protective custody, along with Charlie, and I've sent Edgerton to keep an eye on him."

Megan nodded in agreement, but Colby wasn't about to let it go.

"Okay, yes. I agree that Don and Charlie should have protection, but cutting him off the way he did...that's just not cool," said Colby. "And in case you failed to notice, Jessop didn't assign anyone to keep watch on Don - he just wanted him out of his hair."

"In any case, Don should be safe for a while yet. If Charlie's right - and when isn't he? - then we've got a few more days at least before Weiss' big finale." Megan looked over at Mansfield, who was waiting impatiently by his car for her to join him. "Well...looks like my ride's here," she added with a wry smile and took her leave.

Now, with just Colby helping him at the crime scene, David figured they’d do their best to wrap things up quickly so they could join the others. He didn’t have much to go on, but from the sounds of it, the real party was happening at FBI headquarters. 

***

 

Alan Eppes drifted slowly upwards out of a deep, cottony blackness. There was a ringing in his ears, and as consciousness crept up on him he grew slightly dizzy. His mind was muddled and he felt deeply confused, but somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind a sense of wrongness urged him awake. His head rolled on a neck that was cramped and tight, but when he tried to lift his hand to rub at the sore muscles, he found that he couldn't move it. With a groan, Alan cracked an eye open, then immediately wished he hadn't.

This had to be a nightmare. It just had to be, because only in his darkest nightmares could something like this be happening. His youngest son lay tied up to a bed...no, not just a bed - Don's bed. And shining, terrified eyes locked with his like they were trying to warn him about something. But the only thing Alan could think about was his son, and the reasons why he might be bound, naked and bleeding to his other son's bed. 

Of course he knew the answer. Even before he heard the man speak, he knew Richard was behind this, and every fear he'd suppressed since he was a kid came to the fore in one massive wave, leaving him breathless. He would have screamed - he wasn't beyond voicing his terror - but his mouth was stuffed with cotton, a wide strip of duct tape keeping him from spitting it out.

"Alan, I was beginning to wonder if you were going to wake up at all - I'll admit, I'm still not very good at judging dosages." Richard ducked into his line of sight, making Alan want to squirm away. If it wasn't for the chair, he'd have crawled himself into a corner like the petrified child he felt like. "Look at me, Alan. I came all the way across the country to see you, now look at me!"

Richard's raised voice sent a chill down Alan's spine, and he knew he had no choice but to do as he was told. Raising his head, he locked eyes with the bastard who'd ruined his childhood. But then his gaze slipped and he saw the twisted, damaged body as well. The sight made him gag against the cloth in his mouth.

“Take a good look, Alan,” Richard said, his arms outstretched to better display his wrecked body. “I got these scars in prison, and it was you who sent me there. I was 20 years old, and my life was utterly ruined - thanks to you. You told me you loved me! You promised we would always be together, and then you betrayed me!” 

Alan flinched at Richard’s hollered accusations. He was suddenly twelve years old again, and defenceless against his uncle’s manic rage. He watched helplessly as Richard took his anger out on Charlie with a sucker punch to the gut, leaving his son breathless and in pain on the bed.

Lashing out seemed to have calmed Richard down somewhat, but Alan still watched warily as he methodically gathered up his clothes and got dressed. When he was done, he lifted something off of Alan’s lap. He hadn’t really paid it much attention up until this point, but now that he saw what it was, Alan’s hopes of getting out of this alive quickly evaporated.

"As you can see, I've been keeping myself occupied while I waited for you,” Richard said, slipping the bomb vest on but leaving it unbuckled. “You have two very beautiful boys, Alan. Charlie looks so much like you did when you were young, it just made me feel nostalgic. 

“You may not know this, but I've been in L.A. for a while now, and I've been watching your sons very closely. And do you know what I've discovered?" Richard leaned in close to whisper in Alan's ear, his sour breath puffing in warm gusts across Alan's cheek. “They’re just like us."

Alan shook his head, his lungs aching as they tried to keep up with his panicked breathing. 

"You don't believe me?" Richard asked with mock indignation. "I'll prove it to you. Just as soon as Donny-boy gets here. In the meantime..."

Richard made a show of picking up each of the items laid out on Don's dresser, examining them one after the other. The last item he held gently in his hands, caressing it like a treasured pet. The nail gun was in pristine condition - either because it was brand new, or because he kept it meticulously clean, Alan wasn't sure. All he really cared about was what Richard was planning to do with it.

"Now, I usually work with knives, but I thought, under the circumstances, I might shake things up a little. You remember that birdhouse I helped you build for your school project, Alan? Yes...I see that you remember very well. You tried my patience, as I recall, and I had to teach you a lesson. Let's see if your son is better at taking instructions than you were."

Alan had no recourse but to watch as his tormentor slowly approached the head of the bed. Richard leaned down to plug the nail gun into the wall socket next to the bed, his face inches from Charlie, whose eyes were wide and frantic. 

Then he slowly loaded the gun with nails, held it right against Charlie's forehead and said: "I'm going to remove your gag, Charlie. But if you so much as twitch or wheeze, I will lobotomize you."

Rough fingers yanked the cloth out of Charlie’s mouth, and Alan held his breath, fearful that his son wouldn’t be able to keep still. But Charlie didn’t move a muscle, not even to wet his parched lips. Richard remained poised over him a moment longer as if testing his resolve, but at last he seemed satisfied and he backed away, lowering the nail gun to his side.

“Good. Very good, Charlie. Good behaviour deserves a reward. Would you like some water?” Charlie only stared back at him, still as a statue. “You may speak,” Richard added with an impatient roll of his eyes.

“Yes, please,” Charlie replied, his voice so soft and rough that Alan almost couldn’t hear him.

RIchard nodded, placed the nail gun at the foot of the bed and left the room without another word. 

Alan would have given anything to be able to speak to his son, even though he had no idea what he’d say if he could. It was his fault Richard had tracked them down. How could he ever begin to apologise for unleashing this monster on him? And how could he comfort Charlie when he honestly didn’t believe they were going to survive this? Still, when his son’s eyes met his, he did his best to convey strength and courage, hoping that would be enough to keep him calm.

“Dad, are you okay?” Charlie whispered, his eyes darting between him and the door. Alan nodded his head, amazed and a little bit proud to hear the concern in his son’s voice, when he should be far more worried about himself. It looked like Charlie wanted to say more, but the sound of approaching footsteps silenced him.

Richard appeared moments later with a glass of water in his hand. He lifted Charlie’s head with his other hand and said: “Drink.”

Charlie swallowed the water, his eyes sliding shut as if savouring it. But as soon as he finished, Richard dropped his head back onto the pillow and any compassion he’d exhibited earlier vanished like a switch in his brain had been flicked off. The empty glass found its way to the bedside table, and Richard once again picked up the nail gun.

“Now. Charlie...I’m going to ask you some questions, and you’re going to answer them honestly. If you lie, you’ll be punished. Do you understand?”

Charlie nodded, nervously licking his lips.

"Good. Now, you know I've been watching you with your brother. I want you to tell your father about the two of you." Richard crossed his arms, waiting for an answer, but Charlie could only look back at him in confusion, and the longer he stalled the angrier Richard was becoming.

Finally, Charlie risked speaking out. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"I want you to tell him the truth - that you and your brother are in love, just like Alan and I were when we were young. Say it!" Spittle flew from Richard's mouth, his eyes burning into Charlie with a crazed fury. 

But Charlie was stunned into silence and Alan could only sit there helplessly and watch as an infuriated psychopath fired a nail into his son's thigh. 

Charlie's scream ripped straight through Alan's heart and he cried out against the cloth in his mouth, trying to beg Richard to stop. But Charlie's reaction only served to make the Richard angrier, and another two nails shot into his son’s leg in quick succession.

Charlie let out a strangled sob, sweat breaking out on his forehead as he struggled to hold in his screams. Terrified eyes turned to Alan, and in a voice that sounded far too young, Charlie pleaded, "Dad?"

Alan strained against the ties that held him back, bucking in his chair to get closer to his boy. He'd only managed to scrape about a foot closer to the bed when Richard turned his anger on him and with the hissing sound of compressed air, Alan felt a searing pain catch him in the shoulder. He stopped dead; the pain momentarily distracting him from his goal.

"Dad!" Charlie yelled, then whimpered and shrank back as Richard rounded on him.

"Be quiet!" Richard yelled, digging the heel of his fist into his temple almost as if it was the voices in his head he was trying to silence. "You will be quiet unless I ask you to speak! You're as stubborn and defiant as your father!" 

Weiss paced the room for a painfully long time, visibly trying to reign in his temper, and when he stopped, he was all sweetness and smiles again. "Now...where were we? Oh yes - you were going to tell your father about you and Don."

Charlie looked to Alan, almost like he was asking for permission, or maybe forgiveness, and Alan nodded back to let him know that it was okay to give in - he understood.

"It...it's true. What he said - all of it," Charlie said, his abused throat making his voice crack at the end.

"Details, Charlie. The devil's in the details," Richard said as he positioned the nail gun in the arch of Charlie's left foot, holding it firmly in place with his other hand when Charlie tried to pull away. “Tell your father about the first time you had sex. What did it feel like the first time he fucked you? Did you like it? Did you fight him?”

"What?”

“Tell us!"

“He, uh...that is...we.... We..." Charlie managed to stammer.

"You can't say I didn't warn you," Richard said calmly and shot a nail right into the base of his foot. A squealing scream forced its way past Charlie's lips, making Richard smile cruelly. 

"I can't tell you details about something that's never happened!" Charlie gasped out between whimpers.

Alan wasn't proud of the fact that he had to look away - the screams alone were enough to ensure him nightmares for the rest of his life, however long that might be.


	12. Chapter 12

Don arrived at his apartment complex with one thought on his mind. Sleep. Not even the promise of pizza with his brother would be enough to lure him away from his pillow at this point. 

He walked right past the bank of mail boxes and went straight for the elevator, enormously grateful to find it ready and waiting to take him up to his floor. The stale-aired metal box crept its way up through the levels, the fluorescent lights flickering as they always did, making Don's head throb. He sighed and rubbed at his grainy eyes; just another few minutes and he'd be able to put this whole rotten day behind him.

As Don dragged his feet down the corridor towards his apartment, he dug out his keys, jangling them in his hand to fish out the right one. Charlie must have beaten him home, because when he opened the door, the kitchen light was on and Charlie's sneakers were by the door.

"Charlie?" he called out. For a second, he thought he'd heard a noise coming from deep inside his apartment, but he couldn't be sure. "Charlie, you here?" he asked again. 

Shrugging off his jacket, Don hung it up in the closet by the door and went into the kitchen to plug in his cell phone. Out of habit, he looked in the fridge and debated having a beer. The fact that it seemed like too much effort to bother was a sure sign that he was well past the point of exhaustion.

It wasn't until he went into the living room that he noticed all the candles. They were all over the place - on his coffee table, on the window sills, on pretty much every flat surface available. His first thought was that Charlie must have patched things up with Amita, and he was interrupting something. But there was only one set of shoes at the door... 

"Charlie?" he called again. Still no answer. The whole thing seemed more than a little weird, but maybe the soft lighting was an attempt on Charlie's part to soothe Don's headache. And maybe Charlie had already fallen asleep himself - after all, they were both pretty run down.

He was just about to crash on the sofa when he saw something dark and lumpy on the floor of his living room. Taking a closer look, he frowned at what turned out to be Charlie’s shirt. Don shook his head at his brother’s slovenly behaviour and kicked at it. But as he was straightening back up, he noticed another small pile further into the room. This time it was a pair of socks, and he started to smile, picturing Charlie half asleep and shedding clothes as he headed off to bed, just like he did when they were kids.

Sure enough, the pants Charlie had worn that day were left in a crumpled heap at the entrance of the hallway leading to his bedroom. Don padded quietly down the hall, but stopped in his tracks when a final bundle of cloth caught his eye. A pair of underwear looked like they'd been staged, centred perfectly in the light spilling out of the half-open door to his bedroom.

It was the final piece of the puzzle, and Don’s sluggish synapses struggled to make sense of it. His brother was in his bedroom, apparently naked, having left him a romantic candle-lit welcome and an obvious trail to follow. Don’s heart was beating double time, already fearing on some level what he was going to find when he pushed the door open. 

Even so, the sight of his little brother all bloodied and battered and tied to his bed made all the blood rush from his head, leaving him dizzy. He half-stumbled into the room, his arms already reaching for Charlie. It was a rookie mistake, but no amount of FBI training could ever have prepared him for this - by the time he realised they weren’t alone in the room, he’d already lost any advantage he might have had.

In the heartbeat between one footstep and the next, he knew he’d fucked up in a way that could very well cost them their lives. It was a small movement in the corner of his eye that made everything click into place, and he froze where he stood - a rabbit caught in a snare with nowhere to run. 

Don instinctively went for his gun and rounded on the man he'd sensed lurking in the background. He’d almost fired a round before he realised his target was half-hidden, and that it was his father that was shielding him.

“What have you done to my brother, you sick fuck!” Don barked, too tired and angry to stay calm. He spared a quick glance at his father, whose eyes were glassy with pain and fear, and Don’s rage only escalated. “Answer me!"

“You’re hardly in a position to make demands, Donald,” came Weiss' cool voice. “I think you’ll find I’m the one holding all the cards, here.” 

Stepping out from behind his father, Weiss held his hands out for Don to see. In his left hand was a dead-man’s trigger, wired to the bomb vest he was wearing. As Don watched, Weiss snapped the buckle shut and the detonator whined into life. He didn’t need a math genius to tell him there was enough semtex wired up to that thing to take out a good chunk of the building.

Knowing he was beat, Don carefully laid his gun down on the floor and kicked it under the bed. This was now a hostage situation, and all he could do was try and keep Weiss from blowing them all away and hope for help to arrive. If he knew his team, they'd figure out what was going on eventually, and with Edgerton keeping close tabs on him... 

With a jolt of panic, Don realised that he’d given Edgerton the green light to take Weiss out, and if he took a shot at him now it would mean a death sentence for all of them. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief when he saw that his bedroom blinds were drawn shut, leaving Ian with no clear shot to take.

“Alright, you’re the one in control,” Don conceded, doing his best to sound calm. “What is it that you want?”

Weiss grinned, the burnt skin on his face pulling taut over his cheekbone like crinkled tissue paper. “I have all kinds of plans for you, and we have all night to play. Oh, and if you’re expecting your FBI friends to intervene, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed - I left them a little present in the federal building parkade. It should keep them busy for quite a while.”

Don shifted his weight, wanting to get closer to Charlie, but not wanting to aggravate Weiss. He knew better than to make direct eye contact with the man, knowing instinctively that he would see it as a challenge or a show of aggression. So instead, he kept his eyes focused on his father, doing his best to read his reactions to get a better feel of the situation.

He didn’t like what he saw. He’d never in his life seen his dad look so utterly defeated. It was as if he’d already given up any hope of survival, and that was frightening. His father had always been a rock - solid and strong and permanent - there was nothing in this world that could shake him. At least, that's what he'd always thought.

Don kept up his slow creep towards Charlie, all the while listening to Weiss tell his story of love and rejection with growing revulsion. The thought that his own father had fallen prey to this pervert - his own uncle - at such a young age made him want to throttle the bastard, and he was sorely tempted to risk it all just to feel his hands close around the man’s throat, squeezing the life out of him. 

He made it to the side of the bed without repercussions, but now that he was there, he didn't know what to do. He didn't have a knife to cut his brother free, and even if he did, it wasn't like they could free their father and escape before Weiss detonated the bomb - and he had no doubts that he would do it at the slightest provocation.

"I see that you're eager to begin," Weiss stated, making Don look up at him for the first time. Weiss had clearly been watching him very closely and was just waiting for Don to reach his brother's side.

"Begin what?" Don asked, frankly surprised that his voice was as steady as it was.

"A demonstration."

Don looked to his father, who'd made a muffled protest behind his gag. Weiss' answer had breathed some fire back into him and he started fighting against his bindings.

"What kind of demonstration?" Don asked, wary.

"You're going to show your father how much you love your brother," Weiss answered him, as if it should have been obvious.

Don blanched - he'd seen the bodies of too many of Weiss' victims to not get the implication behind his words. Still, his brain recoiled at the thought, and he shook his head in denial, slowly backing away from the bed.

"As you can see, Charlie and I have had a nice long chat, and I have to say I’m beginning to believe him when he says the two of you haven't consummated your relationship. But I know he's lying when he says you're not in love, because I've been watching you for some time, and I know better. So tonight you’re going to discover what you've been missing, and you'll thank me for it."

Don’s mouth had gone bone dry. His eyes strayed towards his brother, taking in every knife and nail wound, and every bruise that marred his skin. Blood trickled and seeped down Charlie’s body and pooled onto his white sheets staining them a dark crimson. He couldn’t help staring at his baby brother, wondering if he was going to die tonight if Don couldn't do what Weiss wanted.

***

 

When Megan Reeves got out of the car and got her first glimpse inside Weiss’ truck, she knew the rules no longer applied when it came to their killer. A forensics team was busy inside taking photos and collecting evidence, and there was upwards of three dozen FBI agents milling around, drawn to the site by an overactive rumour mill in the federal building.

Accepting a hand up into the back of the truck from Jessop, who’d beat them to the scene, Megan immediately had to cover her mouth and nose to block out the rancid odor of rotting flesh. Inside, the truck had been partitioned into two rows of cages, numbering six in all, with a narrow aisle going between the rows from front to rear. 

Three of the cages were empty, but the other three held the remains of six children. Each pair was staged in similar fashion to the victims they’d found at previous crime scenes, and that’s when the penny dropped.

“This was where Weiss had his dress rehearsals,” she said, drawing Jessop’s attention. “He used these kids as a test run to make sure the children he planned for us to find were staged just right.

“See...these two are posed like the warehouse victims, and those two are like the ones from the burned out bar. And those two…” Megan swallowed back the hot bile that rose at the gruesome sight of the bloody pile that was all that remained of what had once been two young boys. From the looks of it, they’d been blown up with semtex and whatever was left had been shovelled up and dumped back into the cage, probably to serve as a warning to the other hostages. 

“The playground bombing,” Jessop finished for her.

Megan turned in a slow circle, taking in every detail like there was something obvious she was missing. And of course there was - there were no bodies in the truck that mirrored the crime scene they’d found tonight, which meant…

“Oh God - Don!” Megan said. Without waiting for Jessop’s permission, she jumped out of the back of the truck and stormed towards the second crime scene where Mansfield had been sent.

Further into the parkade was the site of a shootout. Bullet casings littered the cement floor and the bodies of two agents lay crumpled amongst the debris, both of them riddled with bullets. Tire skid marks showed where a car had been driven away at great speed.

“He got Charlie!” Megan’s face crumpled in anguish, already imagining the worst. “Mansfield, we need to find Agent Eppes and his father. We might already be too late.”

Mansfield’s brow furrowed in confusion. “His father?”

“The last set of victims - a father and his two sons - I think Weiss has been going after the entire family this whole time.”

***

 

“Take off your clothes, Donald,” Weiss ordered.

Don stood frozen, still staring at his brother.

“Don’t make me repeat myself!” Weiss growled, breaking Don out of his trance. He looked up in time to see Weiss bury a knife hilt-deep into his father’s thigh. The muffled screams made Don break out into a cold sweat. “Do it!” Weiss demanded. 

Don shook his head. “You’re just going to kill us anyway. Why should I do anything you tell me to do?”

“Don!” came Charlie’s startled admonishment.

But it was too late. Don’s insubordination cost their father another stab wound - this time straight through his right hand, pinning it to the wooden armrest of the chair. The accompanying whimper of pain was enough to teach Don his lesson.

“You’ve probably guessed that I don’t plan on leaving this apartment alive. You’ll do what I tell you to do because if you do, I will let your father go free. I like the thought of him living a long life, remembering this night and knowing how wrong he was about the two of us...and about the two of you. But I swear, if you disobey me I will take all three of you down with me.” 

Don looked him in the eye and nodded. He had no idea if what Weiss said was true, but he really had no other option but to play along - the longer he could delay their deaths, the better the chance they might be rescued.

With trembling hands, Don removed his holster and started unbuttoning his shirt. He couldn't look his dad or Charlie in the eye, and if they lived through this, he might never be able to again.

"Faster!" Weiss demanded.

He quickly toed off his socks and shucked off his jeans, hesitating only briefly before stripping out of his underwear as well. He couldn't think of a single time in his life when he'd felt more exposed, and he covered himself as best he could with his hands. But then he felt guilty because Charlie hadn't been afforded that luxury and he let his hands fall by his sides.

Standing there, unsure what to do next, Don risked making eye contact with Weiss, who rolled his eyes in frustration.

"Get on the bed," said Weiss. When Don just gaped at him, he added; "Get on the bed and have sex with Charlie. Is that clear enough for you, or do you want me to walk you through it step by step?"

Don's heart was pounding so hard he could barely breathe past the lump in his throat, but he did as he was told and climbed onto the bed. He had to be careful not to jostle Charlie, who groaned every time the mattress dipped and pulled at his cuts. 

For the first time since he'd entered the room, he met his brother's eyes. They were wide with fear, and he was breathing so hard he was practically hyperventilating, but to Don's surprise, Charlie gave him a quick nod. It was one of the bravest things he'd ever witnessed. 

"I don't suppose you've ever done this before, have you?" Don asked his brother as quietly as he could.

Charlie shook his head. "You?" he asked with a nervous, twitching smile.

It was Don's turn to shake his head. It wasn't like he was clueless, though - he knew the logistics of it. He also knew that if he did it wrong, he could do Charlie some serious damage, and that was something he really couldn't live with.

"I'm not gonna lie to you, Buddy - this is probably gonna hurt. But I swear I'll do my best to be gentle, okay?" Charlie gave him a tenuous nod in reply, his eyes never leaving Don’s.

Don reached over to his bedside table and pulled open the drawer, half-expecting Weiss to intervene. But the man just stood there and let him. He most likely already knew the contents of the drawer and that there was nothing in there that could be used as a weapon. 

Don rummaged around until he snagged the small bottle of K-Y Jelly left there by... God, he couldn't even remember which girlfriend had left it there, it had been so long ago. Still, he'd never felt more grateful to one of his exes.

It wasn't until he popped the lid on the bottle that Weiss stopped him.

"No, no, no! This isn't some whore you picked up off the street! You can't just slick it up and shove it in! This is Charlie! Now take your time and do it right," Weiss snapped, twisting the blade in their father's hand, until sweat popped out on Alan's forehead and he looked like he was about to pass out. “You might want to start with a kiss.”

“Okay, okay!” Don said, “Don’t hurt him! I’ll do it.” He placed the bottle back down on the bed and raised his hands to show Weiss he was following orders.

Don stared down at his brother, trying to figure out how he could even touch him without causing him more pain. He felt queasy, looking at the nails piercing Charlie's legs and arms - they were big carpenter’s nails and some were buried so deep in his brother's flesh that only the heads were showing. Then there were the other cuts on his chest and stomach...it was like a minefield of slashed skin.

"I'm sorry," Don said softly, and cautiously slid up next to him on the bed, lying propped up on his side with his hand hovering over the ‘x’ mark sliced into the skin above Charlie's heart. 

He tried not to listen to the whispered taunts Weiss was breathing into his father's ear or the angry grunts he got in response. Instead, he focused solely on Charlie's big brown eyes, stunned by the amount of trust he saw reflected back at him.

"It's okay, Don," Charlie answered, his voice shaking. And it was clear that his brother was doing the same thing as him - he'd narrowed the world down to just the two of them, everything else blocked out in order to do what had to be done.

Careful to avoid any damaged skin, Don brushed his hand over Charlie's chest, ruffling the springy hair with the tips of his fingers. It made Charlie shiver, but under the circumstances, Don didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

He let his hand trail upwards, fingers splaying lightly across Charlie's exposed throat where the skin was darkening in an ugly bruise. He could feel Charlie's pulse fluttering rapidly beneath his fingertips - so fragile. The protective older brother in him surged forward, and his lips curled into a snarl at the thought of Weiss' hand clamped around Charlie's throat.

Don lowered himself over Charlie, pressing his lips to the pulse point just below his brother's jaw like he was reclaiming something that belonged to him. The tender skin was hot and stubbly against his lips, and his nose was filled with a warm scent that Don knew from a lifetime of brotherly hugs. He had to close his eyes to shake off the sudden memory of Charlie as a gangly preteen, wrestled to the ground beneath him on a hot summer day in their backyard, that same scent rising off his sun-warmed skin. 

Don regrouped, bringing his hand up to cup Charlie's cheek, his thumb brushing over the bruise that was forming there. Without daring to look in his brother's eyes, Don placed a soft kiss over the bruise, resting his forehead against Charlie's when he was done. This felt safe - normal - not much different than the times he'd comforted Charlie after a bad nightmare when they were little.

When Charlie nudged his nose against Don's, he was jolted back to the present and any semblance of normalcy vanished. He was cruelly reminded that they had an audience, and if he didn't get with the program then all their lives were forfeit.

All it took was a tiny shift and he was poised, his lips stopping just short of touching his brother's, giving Charlie one last chance to back out before it was too late. 

But Charlie didn't shy away. Instead, he was the one who closed the distance, his soft lips catching at Don's. The shock of it sent a powerful jolt straight through him - a potent mixture of pleasure and dread - and to his shame, Don felt a flood of heat radiate throughout his body. 

He couldn't help but back off then, scared by his own reaction. He needed to look Charlie in the eye, even though he fully expected to see disgust there. But when Charlie's eyes fluttered open, what he saw wasn’t disgust - shock, yes, and maybe a hint of fear, but mostly what he saw in his wide brown eyes was curiosity. 

Charlie's tongue darted out to lick at his lips like he was chasing after the taste of Don against them. Don followed the movement with his eyes, transfixed, and an anticipatory heat pooled low in his gut, making his dick twitch.

Jesus. This was wrong on so many levels, but Don knew that if he fought the attraction he was feeling then his father's death would be on his head. So he did the only thing he could do and leaned down for another kiss.

It was chaste at first - the two of them simply pressing their lips together - until Don got up the nerve to try more. With his fingers carefully mapping out Charlie’s cheek and jaw, he slanted his mouth slightly, opening his lips against his brother's. And when he licked along the seam of Charlie’s lips, they parted for him without hesitation. 

What followed was a kiss that was all fire and heat, fuelled by a primal pleasure that Don refused to dwell on. When his brother took charge of the kiss and began exploring his mouth, Don couldn’t contain the rumbling moan that seemed to roll all the way upwards from his toes. He was achingly hard in no time at all, and he found himself grinding his hips into the mattress just to get some much-needed friction.

It was Weiss’ smug laugh that brought Don back to reality, He reeled back from his brother, panting hard to catch his breath, and it was only then that he discovered that Charlie was just as breathless as he was - and just as hard.


	13. Chapter 13

“Please, don’t stop on my account,” Weiss said, “we’re really enjoying the show. Aren’t we, Alan?”

His father glared daggers at their captor, refusing to play along.

Guilt slammed into Don like a baseball bat to the gut. For a moment, he’d completely lost himself to his basest instincts, his moral compass overridden by his body’s powerful reaction to his brother. 

Dear God - his own brother! Don buried his face in his hands, having nowhere else to hide his shame.

"Don...Don!" 

It took a long moment to snap out of it, and when he did, he had no idea how long Charlie had been calling his name before he'd heard it. He looked down at his brother, whose lips were still puffy from their kisses. 

"Don! Look at me, okay? Just focus on me," Charlie was saying. "It's not like we have a choice, right? So let's just...do it." His words were brave, but his voice cracked on the last word, giving him away.

Don nodded his head, feeling like he'd been slapped in the face. Now was not the time to indulge in a personal meltdown. Right now, the only thing that mattered was keeping his family alive for as long as possible and by any means necessary.

Don was pretty sure Weiss had a grisly death in store for them no matter what he did, but if this was the end, then he could at the very least give Charlie one hell of a send off. It was terrifying in its own right, just how okay he was with that decision.

With renewed courage, Don crawled half on top of Charlie, sweeping down to claim his lips with his own. Charlie bleated in surprise, but quickly responded and opened his mouth to let Don in.

The kiss was tender and deep, and achingly sweet, and Don permitted himself want more. It was almost too easy to give in to the exploration of it - to the excitement of knowing how Charlie's tongue felt sliding against his own, of how perfect the give and take between them was.

He felt Charlie pull away first, but the expression on his face told him it was not because he was afraid or angry, but because he was ready for more. Don shivered at the open lust in his brother’s eyes, knowing that it was something he was never meant to see and yet getting a visceral thrill out of it nonetheless.

Don trailed kisses down Charlie’s scruffy jaw all the way to the hollow of his throat, mouthing and sucking at the smooth skin until it gleamed pink and wet from his ministrations. Then he let his hand lightly skim over his brother’s belly, but when Charlie flinched at the touch he quickly pulled his hand away.

“Did that hurt?” he asked.

“Ticklish,” Charlie admitted, looking embarrassed.

Don had to smile at that, because he’d known Charlie was ticklish - had used that knowledge countless times when they were growing up to get what he’d wanted from his brother. But now he was touching him with a different purpose - needed to make him squirm for a different reason. 

With a firmer touch, Don stroked Charlie's ribs.

"That better?" he asked.

Charlie's response was to bite his lip and nod, and Don got the impression that he was trying not to let on how good it felt. He figured that meant he must be on the right track, and he continued.

He kissed and nibbled a careful path down to Charlie's nipple, which he flicked over and over again with his tongue, feeling it pebble into a tight nub which he then trapped gently between his teeth. Underneath him, his brother squirmed - not to get away, but to press closer.

It shouldn’t have felt so good - so right - to pull that kind of reaction out of Charlie. He shouldn’t have felt a victorious pride in the way his mouth and tongue drew out a long, keening moan from his baby brother. 

Don could feel the sexual tension build as his hand ventured further down Charlie's body. He was careful to keep his hand flat, pressing instead of sliding against the torn skin, and Charlie arched into his touch - so receptive and trusting that Don physically ached with the need to protect him. 

With his eyes locked on his brother's, Don’s hand closed the final distance, his fingers wrapping gently but firmly around Charlie’s rigid erection. Beneath him, Charlie's whole body jerked like he’d been touched by a live wire. 

For a moment all Don did was simply hold his brother in his hand, giving them both a chance to adjust to the strangeness of it. But to Don, it didn’t really feel strange at all. Not like it should have. The heft of it, the soft skin and the heat - It was just like touching himself, like his brother was an extension of his own body. And when he began stroking him, Charlie hummed and pushed up into his hand, and that was pretty fucking amazing.

Don's own dick leaped at Charlie's reaction, but he ignored it, not yet willing to acknowledge how turned on he was. Instead, he focused entirely on Charlie - on the little noises he tried to stifle when Don's thumb passed over the head of his dick, or the way his breathing sped up when Don's lips brushed his hipbone. 

Suddenly Charlie began tugging at his binds, hissing at the way the plastic ties tore the raw skin at his wrists.

"Easy, Charlie - don't hurt yourself," Don said. "Do you want me to stop what I'm doing?"

"No," Charlie said and he licked at his lips again. "It's just...it's so...intense." The words came out in a whisper meant for only Don to hear, reminding him that they really weren’t alone.

Don pushed that thought away and focused on Charlie. For the first time, Don wondered just how much experience his brother had. If he thought a simple, fumbling hand-job was intense, then he obviously didn't have much to compare it with. Had he ever even had a decent blow-job?

Figuring there was no sense playing coy at this point, Don bent low over Charlie and licked a broad stripe up his cock.

"Don!" Charlie shouted out with shock.

Don willed himself to ignore the equally shocked, but muffled shout that came from their father. He couldn't afford any distractions if he was going to do this, so he pushed all other thoughts aside and returned his attention to his brother, who was now panting hard and straining his neck to watch him.

Fighting a fresh batch of nerves, Don took another swipe along the length of Charlie's cock, going slower this time to let them both really experience it. When he reached the tip he closed his mouth over the crown, tasting the salty bitterness on his tongue. He sucked experimentally, making his brother shudder hard and gasp.

Don was forced to clench a fist around his own dick, holding back the orgasm that was threatening to end everything prematurely. He needed to slow things down, both to draw it out and give them more time, and to make sure he was still hard enough to complete Weiss’ orders. 

He dragged his tongue down the length of Charlie’s cock before nestling in the crease of his groin, and the first thing that struck him was that Charlie smelled good. He smelled really, really damned good. Don breathed him in deep, burying his nose in the musky curls at the base of Charlie’s cock. Taking one of his brother's balls into his mouth, he rolled it around on his tongue before releasing it and giving the same treatment to the other one.

Above him, Charlie was thrashing around, and Don had to hold his hips down to keep him from bucking up at him. It appeared that Charlie liked the same things he did, and that gave him all kinds of ideas.

By the time Don came up for air, Charlie was a wreck. His pupils were blown so wide it was like his eyes had gone completely black. His hair was a mess - damp with sweat and dishevelled, and Don wanted to dig his fingers into that mess and kiss him senseless. 

So that’s what he did.

 

***

 

Charlie was gone. He was lost - floating adrift in a sea of raw sensory input - a foreign world where his body overruled his brain. It was like he’d been sleepwalking all his life and for the first time he was truly alive. 

His brother was kissing him as if he meant it. He was kissing him like he wanted nothing more than to climb inside him, and at that moment, with the heady taste of himself on Don's lips... God! At that moment Charlie wanted that too!

His legs parted for his brother like it was the most natural thing in the world. The thrill of feeling Don on top of him, the rigid heat of his erection digging into his belly, made the pain from his injuries retreat to a dull, distant pang. 

Charlie shifted a little and then it was perfect - lined up alongside his brother, he thrust upwards. Already slick from their combined precome, they rocked in tandem, the tight slide of it feeling incredible.

Don's mouth broke away from his and in Charlie's ear he groaned a quiet, shattered, "Fuck, Charlie!"

Charlie was so close to coming at that point that it was almost enough to push him over the edge. And that’s when Don rolled off him. His hips stuttered out a few thrusts into the suddenly-empty space between them, and he whined at the loss of skin on skin contact.

It took a moment to figure out that Don wasn't backing out but was busy slicking his fingers with the lubricant he'd dug up earlier. The sudden realisation of what was about to happen sent a buzz through his entire body. He knew some of it was fear, but mostly it was anticipation that crackled along his nerves like fire.

A part of him knew he should be horrified by what was happening, but he couldn't help it - he wanted this. He was too far gone to keep up the pretence that he didn't, even for their father's sake. And the worst part was that he wanted this not despite the fact that it was Don, but because it was Don. 

Charlie looked up into his brother's eyes, saw the concern and the love warming them, and it made his breath catch in his throat. He'd never really seen Don before - not like this. It was like his soul was laid bare before him, every emotion raw and unfiltered and right on the surface. How could he never have seen how truly incredible his brother was?

"Kiss me," Charlie demanded, his gravelly voice practically begging.

Don's look of concern intensified, probably assuming it was fear he was hearing. But he nodded and lowered himself carefully to once again cover Charlie's body with his own.

Don nudged at his lips, his tongue sweeping in the moment Charlie opened to him, and they sank into the kiss together, like they’d been doing it all their lives. There was something so honest about it, and it was clear that neither of them was holding anything back. He could feel love, like sparks of electricity, passing between them with every breath they shared.

Charlie was so wrapped up in the kiss that he barely noticed Don was slowly shifting to reach a hand down between them. It wasn't until he felt Don’s warm, slick fingers sliding up between his legs and into the crack of his ass that he realised it was time. This was happening.

Charlie's heart raced a little faster as he spread his legs wider to give Don access. The change in position made the nails in his legs and feet pull painfully at his skin, and he whined pitifully into his brother's mouth as he felt fresh blood seep from his wounds. Don broke off the kiss and looked down at him, a worried look in his eyes.

Charlie blinked away the tears of pain that clouded his vision and said, “Do it”, lifting his hips in encouragement. Don still looked unsure, but proceeded to steal the pillow from under Charlie's head and stuff it under his hips to make things easier.

"You okay?" Don asked.

"Yeah, I'm good," Charlie said, licking the salty sweat from his upper lip, reveling in the tingling burn from Don’s stubble that he could feel there. He wanted to tell Don to hurry up, but he knew his brother needed to go at his own pace. And the last thing he wanted was for Don to think that he just wanted to get it over with.

More lubricant was added to Don's already wet fingers, and then they were there, massaging the viscous oil generously between his legs. Charlie sucked in a breath when he felt the tip of one finger circle his hole and press into him briefly - there and gone - just a tease of what was to come.

Don was watching him closely, as if he expected him to freak out. Charlie smiled to himself - Don clearly had no idea how incredible it felt. But he needed more. Rocking his hips up, Charlie tried to get Don to keep going.

It worked. And this time, when Don's finger pressed inside him, Charlie pushed back until the first knuckle made it past the tight ring of muscle. Don looked at him in alarm, like he wanted apologise for going too fast, and Charlie couldn't have that, so he bore down and enveloped the slick finger in its entirety. 

It felt kind of weird, but the sheer intimacy of it made Charlie’s cock throb even harder. And then Don began twisting his finger, pumping it in and out, and it was such a brilliant sensation that Charlie moaned. Loudly.

"Too much?" Don asked with such gentle concern it made Charlie's heart flip in his chest.

"Not enough," Charlie answered. All he wanted right now was to free his hands so he could grab Don and pull him closer.

"I'm gonna add a finger. You good with that?"

Charlie huffed out an impatient breath and nodded vigorously.

The second finger did hurt a bit, and Charlie had to remind himself to relax. But once the burn of stretched skin eased up, the extra fullness was good. Really...fuck!...oh, so very good. Don took his time, twisting the fingers in and out until Charlie was seconds away from begging him for more.

But he didn’t need to, because Don chose that moment to lean down over him and, kissing along his jaw to his ear, he whispered: 

"Just relax, okay? I'm gonna take good care of you, Charlie. Do you trust me?"

"Yes," Charlie gasped back without hesitation. Despite the truth of his answer, Charlie still tensed up a bit when he felt the blunt head of Don's penis pushing to gain entrance. It felt too big - far too big to fit.

"Shh...it's okay, Charlie. Just relax," Don said, and took Charlie's flagging erection in his hand, stroking him slowly until he started to respond. Then, with a bit of extra pressure, Don was able to breach him.

Even with just the tip of his cock inside him, Charlie felt like he was being split apart. Every instinct he had told him he needed to make this stop, but he didn't have that option. Besides, if he fought it, Don would have no choice but to use force in order to do what Weiss demanded, and that would destroy him.

Charlie closed his eyes and, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he forced himself to relax. He reminded himself that Don would never hurt him, and it took a minute, but it worked - the tearing pain dulled to a mild burning stretch like before. 

Don seemed to sense the moment when Charlie was ready to go on, and he started to slowly inch deeper. To Charlie’s great relief, the pain subsided quickly now that he'd relaxed, leaving him feeling oddly full and pleasantly achy. He let out a shuddering breath and Don sank the rest of the way inside him, his balls pressed snug against his backside. 

Charlie had kept his eyes clenched shut while it was happening, but now he had to look. He had to know what their bodies looked like joined together like that.

Cracking his eyes open, he saw Don straining above him. His arms were quivering with the effort of holding himself still, and the look on his face... Jesus! He looked devastated, like he'd just killed his best friend with his bare hands. 

Charlie swallowed past the lump in his throat, his own minor discomfort forgotten in light of what this was doing to his brother.

"Don? I'm alright. Really," Charlie said, wishing it hadn't come out so shaky. When Don refused to meet his gaze, he added, "C'mere. Please."

Don bent closer as requested, and Charlie brought his head up as far as his restraints allowed and kissed him. It took some coaxing to get Don to loosen up and reciprocate, but eventually they were kissing like before. It was what they both needed, and before long Don had relaxed enough to start moving again.

With tiny thrusts, Don began rocking above him, all the while keeping his eyes locked with Charlie's, ready to back off the second he showed any sign of pain. Charlie did his best to assure him that he was okay, and soon Don was pushing into him in a steady rhythm. 

Charlie could feel the thrumming tension of his brother’s muscles and see the strain on his face, and he knew Don was holding back. Beads of sweat formed all over his brother’s body and it looked like it was taking all his concentration to maintain his control. 

For his part, Charlie had quickly adjusted to the fullness, and it was even starting to feel pretty amazing. And then Don shifted the angle of his thrusts a bit and Charlie’s body erupted with pleasure so intense it took his breath away. His mouth dropped open and when he could finally breathe again he let out a loud gasp followed by a string of obscenities that would make a hardened criminal blush. His hips instinctively pushed up to meet Don's thrusts, actively seeking more. 

Now Don was hitting that spot on every other pass and Charlie was keening uncontrollably. A few more well-directed thrusts and Charlie flew apart, shooting hot streams of come across his chest and belly.

Above him, Don's rhythm stuttered and faltered. Pressing in deeper than ever, he stilled. And then Charlie felt his brother’s cock spasm inside him, his head thrown back over taut shoulders and an incoherent shout on his lips. It left him with a sense of awe to have witnessed it.

Charlie wasn’t given a chance to revel in the moment, however. His father's muffled and panicky shouts alerted him too late that Don was in danger, and all he could do was watch helplessly as Weiss cold-cocked his brother in the back of the head with the blunt end of the nail gun.

Don collapsed heavily on top of Charlie, his waning erection still deep inside him. It knocked the wind out of Charlie, leaving him wheezing and panicked. Charlie turned his head to gasp for air, but in doing so he ended up facing his father, whose ashen face was a rigid mask of grief. 

And Don wasn't moving. Only the regular, warm puffs of air against Charlie's neck indicated that his brother was still alive. It wasn't much, but it was something, and Charlie clung on to it like a lifeline.

He was just starting to get his breath back when Weiss came into his field of vision.

"You boys did your father proud," said Weiss with a dead-eyed smile. "I think you proved my point very nicely, and for that, you deserve a reward."

With his left hand still clutching the bomb's detonator, Weiss dropped the nail gun onto the floor and then stood back to admire his handiwork.

"Don’t look so worried. I didn’t kill him - but I couldn't have your brother running loose while I go grab us a few beers from the fridge, now could I?" Weiss explained, giving Charlie's hair a fatherly ruffling. Charlie glared back at him, wishing it was possible to kill with his eyes.

As soon as Weiss was out of the room, Charlie wriggled around, trying to jostle his brother into waking up.

"Don?" he whispered. "Don, can you hear me?"

Don remained completely still, and a spike of fear shot through Charlie when he saw the bandage around his brother's head quickly turning red until the saturated cloth could no longer hold back the blood and it began dripping onto Charlie's chest.


	14. Chapter 14

Ian Edgerton had discreetly followed Don from the real estate crime scene, first to Charlie's place, and then a few minutes later over to Don's apartment building. He hadn't noticed anyone else trailing his friend, but he wasn't about to take any chances, so he kept a careful distance.

He knew Don's apartment number from the last time he was in town and crashed at his place, and knew that his rooms were facing south, so he'd set up across the street in a stairwell facing his apartment on the same level. 

He'd set up his rifle and scope just in time to see Don enter the kitchen and plug in his cell phone. The shades were drawn on the other windows, but oddly, there were already lights on in the bedroom, which meant that Don had either left them on earlier that day or there was someone else in there with him. 

Deciding to play it safe, he'd stayed put and kept a close eye on the Don’s residence. All was quiet for a while, and then his cell phone rang and he’d pulled it out of his jacket pocket without taking his eye away from his scope.

It was Megan. She'd filled him in on what had happened at the parking garage and gave him the heads up that Weiss might already have Charlie, and he'd told her that he was already staked out at Don's and that she should send another detail to Charlie's house to check in on Alan. As soon as he hung up, he tried Don’s cell, but it went straight to voicemail. Probably had no juice, which was why Don had plugged it in to recharge in the first place.

And now, after nearly an hour of no visible activity and no word from Megan on the whereabouts of Charlie and Alan, he finally caught movement behind the living room blinds. Someone was heading for the kitchen. Ian readjusted his grip on his rifle and took a steadying breath, ready for anything.

As soon as the man came into view, Ian knew he had a tough choice to make. It was definitely Weiss, and he would have taken the shot immediately if it weren't for the fact that his target was covered in semtex. He had to make a judgement call: take the shot and risk killing Don in an explosion, or phone Jessop and hope that Don's team could negotiate with Weiss and save him that way. 

It was iffy, but with two walls between the bedroom and the kitchen, it was possible that his friend might survive a bomb blast if it came down to it. Plus, his gut was telling him that Don was as good as dead if he didn't take the shot now. 

Weiss was getting something out of the fridge, providing him with a stationary target. Ian lined up the shot, held his breath and gently squeezed the trigger. The shot was perfect - nice and clean and straight through the temple.

The resulting explosion, however, took out a good chunk of the building and the blast wave was strong enough that Ian could feel the vibrations from across the street.

Ian grabbed his rifle, leaving everything else behind in the empty staircase and bolted down the stairs two at a time. By the time he got out to the street, there was already a steady stream of people exiting Don’s building and congregating with others who’d stopped to gawk.

One look at his rifle and tac vest and the onlookers parted to make way for him. Some of them tried to talk to him, hoping he’d give them answers, but Ian had only one thing on his mind - get to Don Eppes, and the faster the better.

Wading through swarms of people hanging out in the apartment building’s foyer, Ian headed straight for the stairway, knowing the elevator was bound to be either disabled or crammed with fleeing tenants. As he took to the stairs, he grabbed his cell phone from his back pocket and dialled David’s number.

“Agent Sinclair,” David picked up on the third ring. 

“David, it’s Ian. I’m at Don’s building - there’s been an explosion.”

“Is Don okay?” David asked, and Ian could hear Colby asking questions in the background.

“Don’t know yet. I’m heading up there now. But you should know...Weiss was here. He was wearing a bomb jacket.”

“You took him out.” David said. It wasn’t a question.

“I had a shot. I didn’t think I’d get another one,” Ian answered. “Listen, I gotta go. Let the others know and send for an ambulance.” As Ian passed an elderly couple heading in the opposite direction, the man with a deep gash to his temple and both covered in dust and debris, he added, “Actually, send as many ambulances as you can get. Things got a little messy.”

Ian flipped the phone shut and shoved it back in his pocket just as he was coming to Don’s floor. 

The instant he opened the stairwell door he was covered in white drywall dust. Up ahead, the hallway was littered with chunks of wall and plaster from the ceiling, and a large gaping hole marked the location of Don’s apartment.

Ian picked his way carefully through the debris and climbed into the apartment through the hole left by the blast. He propped his rifle against a stable-looking pile of rubble, figuring he’d need both hands more than he’d need a weapon, since there was exactly zero chance that Weiss survived the explosion.

What little was left of the killer who’d stalked his friends was scattered in pieces of varying sizes all over the remains of Don’s kitchen, painting every surface red. The fridge was badly misshapen but it was still there, which was more than could be said for the wall next to it, which was obliterated along with part of the floor and a good-sized section of the ceiling above. 

Ian got as close as he dared to the hole in the floor and peered over the edge. A terrified woman stared back up at him, pinned to her own kitchen floor by part of the collapsed ceiling. She was clutching a dead bichon frise to her chest and was clearly in shock.

“Try to keep still, Ma’am,” Ian called down to her. “Help is on the way.”

Ian didn’t have time to feel guilty. He needed to find Don. If Don hadn’t survived the blast, then one dead dog would be the least he’d have to feel guilty about.

He left the woman, tuning out her calls for help, and made his way through Don’s apartment. There were a few fires springing up throughout the living room, amongst the rubble. One fire had caught the window dressings and was belching out a thick, choking black smoke. It didn’t help that part of the outside wall was gone, leaving the kitchen and part of the living room open to the elements and feeding the fire with enough oxygen to make it an imminent threat. 

To his great relief, he saw that there was only minor damage to the wall between the living room and the bedroom, and the entrance of the hallway leading to Don’s room was entirely intact. Ian covered his mouth to keep from breathing in too much smoke and made a dash for the hallway.

The bedroom door was partly open and he barged through it, praying to find Don still alive but prepared for the worst. Even so, the shock of what greeted him on the other side stopped him dead in his tracks. 

On the bed, hands tied to the posts and lying naked in a mess of blood and plaster dust, were the Eppes brothers. And bound hand and foot to a chair next to the bed was their father.

Ian couldn’t tell from where he was standing if the brothers were dead or simply immobile, but their father was very much alive and needed his help, so that’s where he decided to start. In a few long strides he was next to Alan Eppes, taking in his injuries - a few knife wounds (the knife still buried deep in his right hand), some bruising and what looked like a nail sticking out of his shoulder.

“Hang in there, Mr. Eppes, I’m gonna get you out of here. Okay?”

A wheezing cough from behind him made him spin around and he found Charlie’s agonized brown eyes blinking back at him. “Ian?” Charlie mouthed, like he couldn’t get enough air to give voice to his name.

“Charlie!” Ian couldn’t hide the relief at finding the young man alive. “It’s okay, Charlie. It’s over - you’re safe now.”

“Weiss?” Charlie asked, a hint of fear in his eyes.

“Dead. Very, very dead,” Ian confirmed, giving him what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

“And Don?” Charlie’s voice cracked, his eyes welling up.

Ian braced himself and then felt for a pulse at Don’s throat. His shoulders sagged in relief to find a weak but steady beat under his fingertips.

“He’s alive. But he’s lost a lot of blood. The sooner we get him to a hospital, the better.”

Charlie nodded and pulled at his restraints like he’d forgotten he was tied up.

Ian dug around in his vest pocket for his utility knife and made quick work of the ties holding Charlie’s arms in place. He gave a sympathetic wince when Charlie cried out in pain - his arms were icy cold, and had probably gone numb a long time ago. The sudden movement must have hurt like a bitch. 

Ian gently rolled Don off of Charlie to lay him on his side, pretending not to notice the smeared semen drying on Charlie’s stomach and thighs which left no doubt as to what had happened between them. Inwardly, he wished Weiss was still alive so he could kill him all over again. Slowly. 

He yanked the pillowcase off the pillow to use as a pressure bandage on Don’s head, and then helped Charlie move his arms down to his sides, sparing a moment to briefly massage his dead-cold fingers to help get his circulation going again. 

He didn’t miss the fact that Charlie refused to look him in the eye, choosing instead to focus all his attention on his unconscious brother. Ian couldn’t begin to imagine where the poor kid’s head was at right now, but there wasn’t much he could do about that at the moment. All he could do was stick to things he could actually control, like getting the three of them to safety.

With the brothers momentarily taken care of, Ian returned to Alan, freeing his legs and arms. 

“Try not to move your hand, Mr. Eppes. You could cause more damage,” he said, soothingly. 

Alan nodded at him and used his left hand to peel the tape away from his mouth. As soon as the wadded-up cloth was out of his mouth, he sucked in a lungful of smoky air, coughing it up almost as quickly.

Ian had to remove the knife if he was going to get Alan free, and sometimes the most humane way to deal with inflicting pain was to use the element of surprise. So, using Alan's coughing fit as a distraction, Ian gripped the older man's wrist firmly and quickly yanked the knife out of his hand.

Alan gave a loud shout and pulled his hand away, immediately clutching it to his chest like a dead bichon frise. Ian gave an apologetic smile in answer to the older man’s glare. 

“Had to be done. Sorry,” Ian said, helping Alan to his feet.

Alan’s legs wobbled precariously, and the injured one almost gave out completely, but he refused to lean on Ian for support. Ian had to shake his head a little - now he knew where the Eppes boys got their stubborn streak from.

“Are you gonna be okay?” Ian asked him, his hand hovering over Alan’s shoulder, ready to grab him in case he really couldn’t support himself.

Alan batted his hand away. “I’m fine. It's Donny and Charlie that need help.”

Smoke from the fire was starting to billow into the bedroom and they were rapidly running out of time. In the distance, Ian could hear the approach of LAFD trucks and ambulances, and knew they were too far out to be of any help to them.

When he turned around to help Charlie up, he saw that the younger man had rolled onto his side. He was reaching into a bowl on Don’s bedside table, wringing out the wet cloth that was in there with swollen, clumsy hands. 

Ian averted his gaze, allowing Charlie some privacy while he carefully cleaned himself and Don. When he was done, Charlie dropped the cloth - now dark pink with blood - onto the bed next to him. Ian said nothing, simply wrapping it in a corner of the soiled bedsheet, which he then pulled out from under them before rolling it into a ball. Taking the bundle out to the living room, he threw the whole lot into the fire - he wouldn’t leave that kind of evidence behind for some CSI team to find.

When he returned, Alan was helping Charlie pull on a loose pair of sweatpants from Don’s dresser. Charlie was gasping and whimpering every time the soft cloth so much as grazed one of the many nails burrowed deep into his legs. And once they were on, fresh blood from the wounds immediately stained the grey material black.

“Do you think you can walk?” Ian asked him, noting the nail wounds in Charlie’s feet.

Charlie nodded his head, but the second his foot touched the floor he almost passed out.

“Okay. That answers that question,” Ian muttered and looked to Alan, who was already busy dressing Don in a similar fashion. “Looks like I’m gonna need your help getting these two out of here. You up for it?”

“I'd like to see you try and stop me,” Alan replied, making Ian smile - the man was an Eppes through and through.

With Alan hefting Charlie into his arms, Ian was left to carry Don. He slung the unconscious man's arms over his shoulder and heaved him up off the bed, carrying the bulk of his weight on his back. He was surprised at how strong Alan was - he made lifting Charlie look easy - but then Ian knew from experience that a parent protecting their child was capable of Herculean feats of strength. 

Ian led the way out through the smoky hallway, into the living room, where the roar of the fire and the thick, choking smoke made communication impossible. He had to make sure Alan stayed close behind him as they navigated around rubble and destroyed furniture on their way to the door.

They didn't stop until they were safely in the stairwell, where they both set their loads down.

Charlie, still shirtless and covered in fresh blood from re-opened cuts, looked like he'd been standing at ground zero of the blast. His dark hair was a wild tangle of matted curls and as Ian watched, the younger man's eyes rolled up into his head and he blacked out.

Ian shared a look with Alan. It was like looking into the eyes of a POW. The man was shaken to the core, having witnessed...well, Ian really didn't want to contemplate what had happened in that room, but he knew none of the Eppes men were walking away from this undamaged.

There was a loud bang as the door to the stairwell was slammed open by the firemen who were now on the scene, followed by the hollow echoing of multiple booted footsteps on the cement stairs. Ian called out to them, letting them know they were there and telling them there was a woman trapped on the floor below them.

Within minutes, their little band of survivors was overtaken by rescue workers. Don and Charlie were strapped onto back boards and carried down the stairs one at a time by the paramedics while one stayed behind to keep an eye on Alan, who was showing signs of shock. 

A warm, grey wool blanket was draped over Alan's shoulders and after a few minutes (with firefighters rushing past them the whole time), the remaining paramedic deemed it safe for him to be moved and Ian followed them down the stairs.

Outside, Alan was bundled into one of the awaiting ambulances and Ian scanned the crowd, quickly spotting Megan and Agent Mansfield questioning some of the onlookers. They hadn't seen him yet, and Ian briefly toyed with the idea of taking off before they did.

But before he could make his escape, Megan caught his eye and waved him over. As he walked he took a moment to think about what he was going to tell them. He decided to give them a bare-bones account of what happened. He'd let Don and his family decide on what other details to divulge.


	15. Chapter 15

Alan Eppes was rolled into the ER in a wheelchair and immediately began craning his neck to try and catch a glimpse of his sons. He knew they were in there somewhere, and he desperately needed to see them - to keep them close.

The orderly wheeling him down the ranks of curtained-off cubicles brought him all the way to the far end. Tucked away in a quiet little corner was a partitioned room offering more privacy than was available in the rest of the ER. It was there that Alan was taken, and he relaxed the moment he saw that two of the three beds in the room were taken up by Don and Charlie.

"Dad!" Charlie called out when he came into view. "I woke up in the ambulance...I didn't know where you and Don were."

Alan's eyes threatened to tear up hearing how young and scared his son sounded. "I'm here, Charlie. We're all here now, and we're gonna be alright."

The orderly helped Alan up onto the third hospital bed and gave him a dressing gown to change into. Thankfully, he closed the curtain behind him, shutting out the rest of the world so it was just the three of them.

Alan's eyes drifted over to Don, who'd had his head re-bandaged and was hooked up to an IV and monitors. Alan took some reassurance in the strong, steady heartbeat blipping across the screen.

"Your brother wake up yet?" he asked Charlie.

Charlie shook his head and fidgeted with his own IV, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the needle buried in his arm. They'd dressed him in one of the weathered hospital gowns that tied up at the back, but it left his arms bare, and Alan could see that there were still nails poking out of his skin.

"They give you anything for the pain?" Alan asked.

"Not yet," Charlie answered.

Alan fumed - couldn't they see his son was hurting? Why would they make him suffer like that? Before he could loudly voice his opinion, Charlie continued:

"I asked them not to. I wanted to see you first." Charlie risked peeking at him from under a curtain of mussed-up curls, like he used to do when he was a kid and he thought he'd done something wrong.

"Well, I'm here now, so there's no reason why you can't have some of the good stuff. I'll go get someone," Alan said, poking his head out between the curtain and the partition wall to call for help. Behind him he heard Charlie protesting that he was alright and didn't need anything, but Alan was having none of that.

It took him a minute to catch the eye of a passing nurse and he quickly convinced her that his son needed some pain management - yesterday. When he pulled his head back into their shared room, Charlie was slouched and pouting.

"What? You don't want to feel better?" Alan asked, trying to cajole him out of his funk.

"I don't want anything - not right now. What if the drugs put me out? What if Don wakes up and I'm sleeping?" Charlie said, turning to look at Don as if checking to see if he'd suddenly woken up.

"I think he'll understand," Alan said and went over to stand next to Charlie's bed. "In fact, I think he'd be more upset if he thought you were suffering on purpose just so you could be there when he woke up, don't you think?"

Charlie shrugged half-heartedly and returned his attention to his IV.

Alan wanted so much to pull him into a hug and never let go, but he'd only hurt him if he did. So instead, he placed his hand gently over Charlie's and gave it a squeeze.

Charlie jumped at the contact, but didn't pull away, and Alan considered it a minor victory. He was determined not to let Richard ruin the lives of his kids the way he'd ruined his. Not if he could help it. And that meant showing his boys that what happened in that bedroom didn't change the way he felt about them. They would get through this as a family, and Richard could rot in hell.

***

 

Don woke up to a splitting headache, confusion and grogginess.

He was lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to an IV and monitors, and his head felt like it was swollen to the size of a football field. A Canadian one. Complete with marching band and cheerleaders. 

With some considerable effort, Don turned his head to have a look around. He was in a curtained-off room, probably in an ER, and there were two empty beds next to his. He suspected they wouldn’t be empty for long, seeing as ER beds were always in high demand, but at the moment he was blissfully alone and grateful for the quiet and the dimmed lights.

It was tempting to simply close his eyes and go back to sleep, but Don had a lot of questions that needed answering. Why was he in here? How long had he been out? And who was in charge of the investigation now that he was out of commission? 

His fingers prowled around the raised bar on the side of the bed until he felt the call button. He pressed it. And when nothing happened immediately, he pressed it a few more times.

After a few very long minutes a nurse came in. She was a stocky, middle-aged lady with a sweet, motherly demeanor, and Don instantly took a liking to her. She smiled at him as she drew near.

"Well there you are!" she said quietly, out of respect for Don’s pounding headache. "Your brother’s been worried sick about you. He made me promise to tell you that they're here and they're both okay, so you don't need to worry about them."

Don licked his dry lips and cleared his throat to test his voice. The nurse, whose nametag read ‘Etta’, gave him a sympathetic smile and poured a small cup of water from the jug on the stand next to the bed. Don gratefully took it and downed it even as she was warning him to take small sips. He handed the empty cup back to her with an apologetic shrug.

“How’s the head feeling?” she asked.

“Like it was pummeled repeatedly with a baseball bat,” Don admitted, his brows furrowing as the act of speaking caused the pain in his head to spike. “What happened?”

“What do you remember?” Etta gave him a concerned look and set about doing some tests, starting with flashing a bright light into his eyes.

Don winced as the light sent shards of agony through his skull and blinked watering eyes until the black spots started to fade a little. “I remember getting a call to Jefferson Elementary. There was a bomb threat. Is that what happened? Did the bomb go off?”

“I think it’s best if I let you talk to your doctor, Agent Eppes,” she answered cryptically. Then she pulled the curtain shut around them and pressed the button on the side of the bed so he could sit up. 

Don submitted to a thermometer under the tongue and a blood pressure reading before trying to get more answers.

“You said they’re here...you mean my dad and my brother? Can I see them?”

“You’ll be able to see them soon, I promise. But first I want you to have a chat with Dr. Carlyle, who should be here in a minute. In the meantime, I can give you something for the pain if you’d like?” she asked.

“If it’ll stop the jackhammering in my skull, I’ll take it,” Don replied, resting his head against the thin pillow. Sitting up wasn’t as comfortable as lying down, but at least this way he could look around the room without having to lift his head. Not that there was anything to look at.

She nodded back at him. "I'll be right back," she said and gave his hand a pat before leaving.

Don's eyes slid closed, and the darkness behind his lids was a welcome relief. Despite the splitting headache, though, he couldn't stop his mind from chasing around in circles. Something about the way the nurse reacted and some of the things she said sent up red flags. He was missing something, and it was bugging him that he still didn't have the answers he wanted.

The sound of the curtain swishing open alerted him to the arrival of a visitor and Don opened his eyes a crack to see if it was the nurse with his pain meds. He was a bit surprised to find Megan slipping into his cubicle, looking sad and sympathetic.

"Hey, Megan," he said, frowning up at her through squinted eyes. 

"Hey back," she said, her eyes shifting away and back again, like she was afraid to look him in the eye.

"Okay. Something’s going on, here. What is it?" Don asked, his voice raised in frustration. He immediately regretted it, his hands automatically going to his forehead to try and rub out the throbbing pain his own voice had caused.

"It’s okay, Don," she said, looking over her shoulder like she was worried about getting caught. "Everything's okay now. Weiss is dead. You and Charlie are safe now."

"Weiss is dead?" Don asked, his surprise at the news slipping out.

"Killed in the explosion," she confirmed with a nod.

"So...the bomb at the school went off, then?" Don asked, trying to flesh out what had happened to him.

Megan gave him a funny look which slowly morphed into one of dawning comprehension. "Don...what's the last thing you remember?"

Don frowned, trying to focus on his last memory, which was annoyingly fuzzy around the edges. "I remember getting a call about a bomb threat at Jefferson Elementary. And then...Yeah - I called Charlie on the way to the scene. Why? What's going on, Megan?"

Megan chewed at her cheek the way she did when she had bad news that she didn't want to deliver. It was making Don nervous.

"Is Charlie okay?" he asked, sensing this was about his brother.

And now Megan grimaced and wrung her hands anxiously, and when she looked at him there was grief in her eyes. Don's stomach dropped, and it was like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.

“Megan. What happened to Charlie?” he demanded, barely able to keep his voice from shaking.

“We were kind of hoping that you could tell us,” she admitted.

“What do you mean? Where is he? What’s happened to him?” Don threw the thin hospital blanket off of him and attempted to roll out of bed, but the damn room started spinning out of control. Before he could even warn Megan, he was throwing up over the side of the bed, his head pounding so hard his vision blacked out. He didn’t even hear the arrival of the nurse and the thin, red-headed man in scrubs he assumed was Dr. Carlyle.

Gentle hands guided him back into a lying position, and with calm efficiency, Etta plumped his pillow, replaced his blanket and pressed a cold cup of water into his hand.

In the background he was aware of Megan being chased out by the young doctor. So she'd been right to worry about being caught talking to Don if the lecture she was getting from Dr. Carlyle was anything to go by. She was warned that her questions would have to wait until he said it was okay for his patient to answer them, and that went for all the other agents sitting in the waiting room.

“So,” the man said to him once Megan was gone. “Two visits to the ER in less than 24 hours. You must really like it here.”

Don drank his water and tried to make sense of what the freckle-faced doctor was saying. He had no memory of a previous visit to the ER, but from the way the nurse and Megan were acting he was starting to understand that he was missing a sizable chunk of time.

“When was I here before? And what happened? Why isn’t anyone telling me anything?” he asked, beyond frustrated. He wanted nothing more than to get out of there and find his brother, but he clearly wasn’t in any condition to do that, so he’d have to settle for getting what answers he could out of the people around him.

Dr. Carlyle looked unflustered by his outburst, simply nodding at the nurse, who pushed some pain meds into Don`s IV drip. The effects were almost instantaneous and utterly fantastic. It was a weird sensation, feeling the pain and floating above it at the same time, like it was there, but it couldn’t touch him.

“There’ll be plenty of time to sort things out later. But for now, just rest. I promise you we’re taking really good care of your father and brother.” The doctor’s smile was meant to be reassuring, but his comment only served to make Don more anxious. What did he mean, ‘taking care of’ his father and brother? Why did they need taking care of?

Don fought the drug slithering through his veins, but the relief of being pain free and the sluggishness of his whole body got to him. Don quickly sank into sweet oblivion, his questions dying stillborn on his lips.


	16. Chapter 16

Charlie felt like a voodoo doll stuck full of pins. Spread out on his back on a cold, paper-lined slab while the x-ray technician manipulated his limbs into the right positions. He was having a really hard time not flinching every time he was touched. He knew no one here wanted to hurt him, but it was like his body had been rewired to expect pain and his brain couldn't tell it otherwise. It didn't help that the slightest touch hurt, no matter how well-meaning the person doing the touching. He was starting to regret his decision to decline the stronger painkillers he'd been offered.

Once Charlie was done, he was gently manhandled back onto his gurney and trundled out into the hallway to await an orderly to take him back to the ER. He turned his head, following the sounds of gentle snoring, and saw that his father was asleep sitting upright in a wheelchair across the hall from him. Right where he’d left him. 

Charlie let out a shaky sigh of relief - he wasn’t alone.

His dad had stuck doggedly by his side since he’d arrived at the ER. He’d been there the whole time Charlie was being stitched up, receiving a few stitches of his own, too.

With all of the cuts criss-crossing Charlie’s torso, they’d needed to shave his entire chest so they could stitch the worst gashes shut and tape up the minor ones. Charlie had been injected with so much local anesthetic that there were entire sections of his body that felt completely numb.

The whole ordeal had lasted upwards of an hour, with his father holding his hand the whole time. Normally he would have been mortified being treated like a little kid like that - especially in public - but after everything they'd been through, Charlie was just grateful his father could stomach being around him at all, let alone show him affection.

But Charlie had needed to go in alone for the x-rays (Carlyle was worried because some of the nails looked like they might be embedded in the bones and he wanted to rule out any fractures they may have caused), and his father had taken advantage of his absence to get some much-needed rest himself. He was still fast asleep by the time a pair of orderlies arrived to wheel them back to the emergency room.

Once there, Charlie’s eyes immediately sought out Don, hardly breathing until he saw that his brother was still sleeping and his vitals were still scrolling across the screen in a strong, steady rhythm.

"Hey, Charlie. How're you feeling?"

Charlie's head snapped up and to the left, the sound of the unexpected voice startling him. It was just Dr. Carlyle, but Charlie's heart was racing like he'd run a marathon.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you," Carlyle said.

"It's okay," Charlie answered, once he was able to breathe again. Even though he trusted Dr. Carlyle, he didn't really know him and he couldn't help feeling jittery with him around. Right now he just wanted to be alone with his family, so he tried to get rid of him. "Don's sleeping, and so's my dad."

"I know," Carlyle said. "Your brother was awake earlier. I talked with him."

"What?" Charlie said, trying to sit up so he could see Don - see if he was awake now and needed him. He grunted as the movement pulled at his fresh stitches.

"Just relax - he's going to be fine," said Carlyle in a soothing voice. "He was a bit confused, and he's got some memory loss, but there's a good chance the memories will return over time. I'd like to keep your brother for another 24 hours for observation, just to be safe."

Charlie's mind raced at a sickening speed. If Don was suffering from memory loss, then what did that mean for them? Charlie felt physically ill thinking that he might be alone with the memory of what happened between them. He didn't think he could handle it if Don didn't remember.

And then he thought about how selfish that was: if Don didn't remember, then surely that was a blessing - at least he wouldn't have to suffer through reliving the night’s events over and over again every time he closed his eyes.

Charlie was suddenly aware that Dr. Carlyle had been talking and had asked him a question. He hadn't heard a single word the man had said.

"I'm sorry...what?" asked Charlie, still mostly distracted.

Carlyle gave him a sympathetic smile. "I just wanted to know if you'd like something a little stronger while we remove the nails? It'll probably knock you right out, and that way we can give you a tetanus shot while we're at it...

"...Mr. Eppes," Carlyle prompted, and Charlie realized he’d lost focus again, his eyes wandering over to Don. "Would you like to speak with someone about what happened to you tonight?"

Charlie's mouth went sticky dry at the suggestion. "You mean like a psychologist?" he asked.

Dr.Carlyle nodded. "Dr. Katz is a wonderful counselor."

Charlie shook his head firmly, clamping his lips shut like he thought Carlyle might try to force him talk right that very minute.

"Okay. That's fine, I won't push you. But if you change your mind, just let me know and I can get the ball rolling, okay?" he waited until Charlie gave him a small nod before continuing. "And the drugs? Did you want something to knock you out for this?"

Charlie shot a panicky look towards his brother. Why wasn't he waking up? He wanted Don to be awake so he wouldn't have to go through this alone. But again, that would be selfish. Still, he couldn't help the way he felt. He wanted Don near him so badly it was almost a physical ache.

To his embarrassment, his eyes pricked with hot tears, and before he could reign them back in they'd spilled over onto his cheeks. He brushed them away quickly, and then tried to pretend nothing had happened.

Thankfully, Dr. Carlyle was pretended nothing had happened, too, carefully keeping himself facing away from Charlie as he prepared an injection. But when he finally turned to add the injection to Charlie’s IV, Charlie freaked out.

“NO! Don’t! Get that away from me!” he shouted. “I don’t want it!”

Next to him, his father jerked awake like someone had splashed ice water on him. “Charlie?” he asked, then glared daggers at Dr. Carlyle. “What did you do to him?” he demanded with a snarl.

Dr. Carlyle held his hands in front of him placatingly and took a step away from Charlie. 

“I was just going to give your son something to help him sleep while we work on him.”

Charlie reached out his hand to his father who grabbed hold of it with his uninjured left hand, giving it a strong squeeze.

“It’s okay, Charlie, I’m right here,” he said.

Charlie craned his neck to look over at Don, still lying unconscious in the next bed. “I don’t want to leave Don. What if he wakes up and I’m not here?”

Dr. Carlyle was the one to answer him. “Your brother was given some strong pain medication. I doubt he’ll be waking up anytime soon. But if you’re adamant, I can stick to the local anesthetics and take care of you here.”

Charlie looked back and forth between Carlyle and his dad, trying to figure out if he was just trying to calm him down enough to slip him the injection. In his head he was working out optimal paths of escape, figuring in potential obstacles, and quickly came to the conclusion that because of his injuries he was well and truly trapped. If the doctor wanted to knock him out...like Weiss had...

Charlie's chest constricted painfully, wheezing in what little air he could squeeze past the tightness of his throat. His eyes widened and his hands fisted the thin blanket they'd given him. He knew he was verging on having a panic attack but he couldn’t help feeling like he was cornered.

"Relax, Charlie. Just try and take a few long, slow breaths, okay?" Dr Carlyle said. "I promise I won't give you the injection. See? I'm putting it down."

Charlie did his best to breathe slowly and he was able to head off the attack before it got out of control. He kept his eyes locked on the doctor, just in case he went back on his word. But after a few minutes with Carlyle keeping his promise, Charlie was finally able to breathe again. Feeling utterly spent, he slumped back against his pillow and closed his eyes.

"That's good, Charlie," said Carlyle. "Relax. No one here is going to hurt you, I promise."

"I’m okay now," Charlie said, rubbing at his bruised throat when his voice came out shaky. "I haven't had an episode like that since I was a kid, though. Sorry," he said, sheepishly.

"You have nothing to be sorry about. Frankly, after the trauma you've suffered I'd be more worried if you didn't shows signs of anxiety." Dr. Carlyle hesitated briefly, like he wanted to say something but was afraid he'd upset Charlie.

"What is it?" Charlie asked.

"Would you like to wait a while before we take out those nails? I'd understand if you want some time to calm down a bit...but the sooner we get them out, the sooner you can be done and you'll feel a lot better once it's over."

Charlie felt like one large, raw nerve, but the nails were a constant, painful reminder of what Weiss had done to him, and he just wanted them out. He nodded his head and said, "But I'm staying here. And I don't want anything stronger than a local."

Carlyle agreed with a somber nod and left to get his equipment.

***

 

Something was wrong. Don was having a nightmare, but on some level he knew it was more than that. Charlie was in danger. He needed him, and Don couldn't reach him.

He surfaced slowly, his eyes blinking open to stare up at an unfamiliar ceiling. His brain felt foggy and slow, but he vaguely remembered talk of an explosion...Megan...Megan had told him Weiss was dead. And there was a doctor, and something about Charlie...

A holler of pain came from close by, and it definitely sounded like Charlie. Suddenly alert, Don bolted upright, head spinning sickeningly as he tried to find the source of the sound.

When the world stopped spinning, he saw his father, Charlie and the doctor who'd talked to him earlier frozen in a shocked tableau - all of them staring at him. For a moment Don just sat there and stared back, completely confused by what he was seeing.

Charlie was lying down on a hospital bed with the doctor pulling something out of his foot with a tool that looked disturbingly like pliers. And Charlie's legs...Don couldn't understand what he was seeing. His brother's legs were mottled with bruises and bandaged in numerous places. Don let his eyes travel upwards and saw that Charlie's arms were similarly marked. But why? Had he been at the school when the bomb went off? Were his injuries the result of shrapnel?

It wasn't until he noticed the dark bruising on his brother's throat that everything clicked back in place - memories flooding his brain fast and furious, full of horrific images that Don wouldn't have believed were true if he didn't have the physical proof right in front of him.

"No. Nonononono. Charlie - Oh God, Charlie!" Don's voice hitched and he felt lightheaded. The words 'what have I done?' never made it past his lips.

Charlie was saying something to him. He looked worried. But Don couldn't hear past the whooshing rush of blood in his ears. Couldn't think past the lead ball of sick in his gut. 

He'd fucked his brother.

Like a skipping record the words echoed in his head in an endless loop. He couldn't look at Charlie - couldn't stand to see him hurt like that. But when he closed his eyes all he could see was the memory of his brother laid out beneath him, eyes screwed tightly shut as Don relentlessly pushed deeper inside of him.

A pallid chill slithered up his spine, coiling in his stomach and making him break out in a cold sweat. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to survive long enough to regret what happened. But here he was, and he'd fucked his baby brother and there was no going back from that.

The world resolutely refused to end, and now Charlie was starting to sound scared, and that wasn't right. It was Don's job to protect Charlie, not scare him, and if that meant opening his eyes and facing him, then that's what he'd do.

The look of relief on Charlie's face was so far removed from what he deserved that it seemed absurd, and Don actually laughed. But Charlie wasn't laughing. Charlie was looking at him like he'd lost his mind - and maybe he was right.

He'd fucked his brother.

Somewhere in the logical part of his brain, Don knew that he'd done it to protect him and that Charlie was alive now because of it. But that didn't change the fact that he’d _fucked his little brother_.

 

***

 

Charlie struggled against the doctor, who was holding him back from getting to Don. He huffed angrily up at the freckled face of the man pinning him to his bed, but he didn't have the strength to push him off.

On the bed next to him, Don was having a major meltdown. He knew Don better than he knew pretty much anybody else, and he knew his brother was in a pit of guilt six-feet deep and digging himself even deeper. He tried talking to him - knew he was saying more than he should in front of the doctor - but Don wasn't hearing him.

Finally, with Charlie begging him to look at him, Don opened his eyes and faced him. And then he laughed - a hysterical, terrifying laugh that sent chills down Charlie’s spine.

"Don. Don, are you listening to me?" Charlie asked, sounding desperate even to his own ears. "None of this was your fault!"

"How can you say that, Charlie?" Don said. 

Behind him, Charlie was aware of Dr. Carlyle excusing himself from the room. A kindness for which Charlie was very grateful.

"I can say it because it's true. There's nothing you could have done differently that wouldn't have ended with at least one of us dead."

When Don's only answer was a bitter snort, his father stepped in. "You should listen to your brother, Don. Richard was a dangerously unstable man and he was wearing a bomb! Even if you'd come in guns blazing, chances are he'd have blown us to kingdom come before you could take him down."

Charlie saw the minute flinch at the mention of guns and suddenly he knew where Don thought he'd gone wrong. 

"That's it, isn't it?" Charlie asked in a hushed voice. "You think you weren't fast enough on the draw! Don - Dad's right. The moment you unlocked the door of your apartment, Weiss was ready for you; it didn’t matter what you did. In fact, putting your gun down was probably the only way to keep us alive and I think you knew it."

Don was shaking his head, his face scary-blank. "I was tired and I didn't figure it out fast enough. If I'd been thinking right, I would have known something was off the minute I got home."

"And then what?" asked Charlie.

"And then I would have called for backup," Don replied, but even as he said it a light dawned behind his eyes as an alternate scenario played out in his head.

"And it would have been a hostage situation, only with you on the outside and me and Dad alone with Weiss on the inside. And we both know Weiss would have taken both of us down with him rather than surrender," Charlie said.

Don's head fell forward, burying his face in his hands. But eventually, he straightened up and looked at them again. He looked drained and resigned, but at least he seemed more in control, which Charlie took to be a good thing.

"Right. So...where does that leave us, then?" Don asked, sounding so lost.

Charlie wished he had an answer to that, himself. All he could do was shrug and look to their dad. Thankfully his father was willing to take charge of the situation and he stood up on shaky legs to take a position halfway between him and his brother.

"That leaves us as a family," Alan said, resolutely. "What happened tonight stays strictly between the three of us - the FBI doesn't need to know everything, and neither do our friends. We can deal with this together. Are we agreed?"

"Agreed," Charlie said, readily. The last thing he wanted was for Don to lose his position over this - even if he didn't do anything wrong, he'd be facing a mandatory psych evaluation, and would probably never be cleared for field work again.

Don groaned, clearly only just now realising the ramifications that faced him. "Agreed," he said, giving their dad a decisive nod. "As far as the FBI knows, I don’t remember anything and I might never get those memories back. But that doesn't mean they won't piece together what happened from the evidence left behind in my apartment."

"What evidence?" Alan asked, all wide-eyed innocence.

"What apartment?" Charlie pointed out.

Don frowned at them. "Am I missing something?"

Charlie shared a look with his dad, who then turned to Don and said: “Son, I’m afraid I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is that Ian made sure any incriminating evidence was destroyed. The bad news is that it was destroyed along with most of your apartment.”


	17. Chapter 17

It was early the next morning when Don and Charlie were moved upstairs to a semi-private room. Alan had been sent home with pills and extra bandages for his hand, leg and shoulder and was told to get some proper rest. That left the two of them to get settled in their new room with two trays of questionable hospital food for breakfast. And for the first time since the whole ordeal began, Don found himself alone with his brother.

For a while they both studiously avoided looking at each other as they picked at their meals. But eventually Charlie couldn’t stand the silence.

“Don...about what happened…”

Don dropped his plastic fork on the tray and pushed it away, his appetite gone with those few words.

“Don’t, Charlie,” he warned, slanting a look in his brother’s direction.

Charlie had his stubborn face on and Don knew he wasn’t about to let this go. “So what? Are you just going to pretend it never happened?”

Don shrugged and picked at the tape holding his IV drip to his arm.

Next to him, Charlie sighed quietly. Then there was a rustling of sheets and a grunting moan as his brother shifted on his cot. Don watched, wincing every time Charlie flinched as he sat up and turned to dangle his legs over the side of his cot. The next thing he knew, Charlie was peeling his hospital gown off, baring his bruised and bandaged chest.

“What are you doing?” Don asked, shrinking as far away as his bed would let him.

“I want you to look at me, Don,” Charlie said with a desperate frown. “You may be able to pretend nothing happened, but I can’t! I can never look in the mirror again without…” Charlie’s voice cut out in a cracked sob.

“Hey hey hey, Charlie - it’s okay,” Don said, feeling like a world-class heel for upsetting his brother. Taking his IV stand with him, Don crossed the short distance between their beds and wrapped Charlie in his arms, letting him vent his emotions into the crook of his neck.

Charlie’s hands clutched at his back, bunching up the loose-fitting material of Don’s hospital gown and exposing more of his skin to the cool air. Don held onto Charlie just as fiercely, burying his nose in the soft tangle of his brother’s dark curls as hot tears soaked through the material at his shoulder.

But when the tears dried up, neither of them let go. Don felt the exact moment when the embrace shifted subtly from simple comfort to something else - an electric charge sizzling in the space between them. Charlie must have sensed it, too, because he went completely still - not even daring to breathe.

Don pulled away first, feeling Charlie tug weakly at his gown to pull him back again. And that only made it worse, because Don wanted more than anything to be drawn back in. It took more willpower than he thought he possessed to step back and put some distance between them.

Charlie looked up at him sheepishly, his eyes puffy and red from crying. It made Don’s arms ache with the need to hold him and keep the world from hurting him again. Ever. And a deeper need stirred inside him, too - just as powerful and far more frightening. It was the need to hang on to Charlie and never let him go.

***

 

When Don stepped back, Charlie felt his face heat up in embarrassment. For a moment, he'd felt something...something incredible, and he didn't want it to stop. But Don had pulled away, and when he looked into his eyes it made his breath catch.

Because Don was looking at him like he had last night when they'd been...

Charlie shook his head, clearing the hot images that flashed before his eyes - Don arching above him, pushing in deep, a sheen of sweat making his skin glow, the glorious shout as he...

He had to look away now, or Don would know exactly what he was thinking. The silence between them was deafening - their breathing too loud in the quiet of the room.

It was a palpable relief when a knock sounded at the door. Don quickly returned to his bed and climbed in, rearranging himself so it looked like he'd never left it.

"Come in," Don called, and a beat later Megan peeked her head around the door. 

"You boys okay with a little company?" she asked.

Don's eyes flicked a warning glance at Charlie as he struggled to pull his gown back up around his shoulders. The message was clear - he'd do the talking.

"Of course, Megan. Come in," Don said.

Megan stopped by Charlie's bed first, giving him an honest smile that managed to show her concern without delving into outright pity. It brought a lump of gratitude to his throat.

"Hey, Charlie," she said, her hand gently brushing his shoulder. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I could sleep for a week," he answered honestly.

"Well, I promise I won't stay long. I just wanted to see how you are - there's a lot of concerned people out there in the waiting room, but we figured one visitor would be enough for now."

"Yeah, thanks," Charlie agreed. He couldn't imagine trying to keep up appearances in front of all of their friends. He was suddenly aware that his legs were still hanging over the side of his bed, and she had to’ve noticed all the bandages and the mottled bruising. He shifted around until he was back sitting up against his pillows with a blanket covering him from the waist down. 

"So, Don," she continued, looking at his brother covertly through a veil of bangs and lashes. "How are you doing?"

"Still don't remember anything, if that's what you mean," Don lied.

"Nothing?" she asked.

"Nada. I mean, Dad and Charlie filled me in on what went down before I got there, but after that..."

"Nothing," she stated.

"Nope."

Charlie's stomach twisted uneasily at the way his brother was able to lie so smoothly to her. This was a woman who studied criminal behaviour for a living, and he was telling her a big, fat lie. Right to her face, no less. 

“Alright, Don, that’s fine,” she said with a small, pinched smile. “But you know that means I’m gonna have to ask Charlie a few questions, right?”

Charlie realised she was playing off Don’s protective nature, trying to get him to admit the truth. Which meant she wasn’t buying his line, after all.

For some reason it made Charlie feel better knowing that she didn't believe him. What’s more, Don knew she hadn't bought it, too, and if they stuck to their guns, no one was going to press the matter. And that meant Don’s career and reputation were safe.

“You can talk to him when he’s ready to talk,” Don warned, turning it into a stand-off.

“It’s okay, Don,” Charlie said, drawing courage from Don’s proximity. “I’ll answer her questions.” Charlie rubbed at his sore eyes while Megan drew up a chair to sit next to him. 

“Are you sure you’re up to it right now? Don’s right, you know: you can do this whenever you like,” Megan said.

“I just want to get it over with,” Charlie said. It was the truth. He knew from past experience that keeping it all bottled up was only going to backfire on him. He needed to get it all out, and if Don was there to hear it, too...well, he needed to know, anyway, and this way Charlie would only have to say it once. 

“Okay, then,” Megan began, and she dug out a small digital recorder from her bag, pressed the record button and placed it on the tiny tray next to his half-finished breakfast. “Let’s start with what happened at the parkade.”

***

 

Don kept quiet while Charlie talked, but inside he was screaming. Hearing how Weiss tortured and tormented his brother made him want to yell and rant and punch things. 

It was the details that got to him...like how Weiss’ breath reeked as he pinned Charlie down and tried to strangle him, or how his brother had recited pi in his head to stay calm when Weiss threatened to put a nail through his forehead. He could picture it like it was happening right in front of him, and he could do absolutely nothing to save Charlie from those memories.

The worst part was, he knew Charlie wasn’t telling her everything. He was glossing over things that Weiss said, saying things like, ‘and then he asked me about how Don and I got along’, which was close to the truth and yet a million miles off at the same time. Because Don knew Weiss had really asked him if he and his brother were lovers, and all those nails and cuts were punishment for not telling Weiss what he wanted to hear.

God, how he wished he could go back in time and tell Charlie to lie through his teeth and save himself from going through all that. It wasn’t fair that Charlie was the one who’d been singled out to suffer at that lunatic’s hand. 

By the time Charlie got to the part where Don arrived, the strain of talking was visibly taking its toll on him, leaving him trembling and hugging himself. It was so hard to watch that Don was sorely tempted to climb out of bed and crawl into Charlie’s so he could hold him again. He managed to restrain himself, but it was a near thing.

Charlie finished his account by claiming that Don had been immediately knocked unconscious by Weiss. “Don was bleeding so much, I thought…for a while there I couldn’t tell if he was breathing, and I thought he was gone. If Ian hadn’t shown up when he did, I might have lost him.” 

The remembered grief made Charlie’s voice crack, and he rubbed at his face, leaving his eyes suspiciously wet.

“Thanks, Charlie,” Megan said, her own voice tight with emotion. “Ian can fill in the rest of the details from there.”

Megan looked at Don and seemed to look right through him. In her eyes, he could see that she’d been able to read between the lines and had a pretty damned good idea of what it was Charlie wasn’t saying. But she wasn’t judging - she just wanted him to know that she understood and that none of it was going on the record.

Don felt a weight lift off his chest and he looked back at her gratefully, getting a soft smile in return. He hadn’t realised how worried he’d been about the interview until it was over. He wasn’t naïve enough to think that she wouldn’t put all the pieces together, but at least now he knew he could trust her to be discreet in her report.

When they were alone again and everything was quiet, Charlie sank back against his pillows and closed his eyes, and within minutes he was asleep.

Don couldn't take his eyes off Charlie, just watching his chest rise and fall with his breathing. After a few minutes his eyelids fluttered in response to whatever was going on inside his head. Don knew that whatever was happening in his dreams it wasn't pleasant, because every once in a while Charlie's limbs would jerk like he was trying to shake somebody off.

He hated hearing the little whimpers coming from behind his brother's clamped lips, and all he wanted was to climb into bed with him and wrap him tightly in his arms. Don groaned, because if he was being really honest with himself, he didn't want to just hold Charlie. He wanted to feel the heat of his skin under his hands; feel his pulse beating strong and fast under his lips. God help him, he _wanted_ Charlie.

Don stared up at the ceiling, not even feeling the hot slip of tears tracking down his face. He tried to tell himself that it was just because the memories were so fresh. He figured if he tried hard enough, he might be able to fool himself into believing he could ever look at his brother again without wanting him.

His mind continued to churn, but his body had reached its limits and soon he, too, was fast asleep.

When he woke again, it was to the sound of his father and Charlie talking quietly. He opened his eyes to the expected pain of light assaulting his battered brain, and he groaned.

"You're awake," Charlie said, sounding surprised.

"So're you," Don slurred back, shielding his eyes with his hand.

"You've been sleeping all day," Charlie added. "I was worried you were going to sleep straight through 'til morning and you'd miss me."

"Miss you?" Don asked. He was too sluggish to make sense of what Charlie was saying, and it was frustrating.

"They're discharging me. Dad's taking me home as soon they fit me for a foot brace. Turns out my left heel was fractured - otherwise I got off pretty easy.”

Don turned pained eyes on his brother, and, huffing out a wry chuckle, he said, “You call that getting off easy?”

Charlie crossed his arms and looked him square in the eye. With a dead-serious expression he replied, “Considering I’m still alive...yeah, I’d say I’m pretty lucky.”

Don pursed his lips but said nothing. There was nothing he could say that could erase the last 24 hours.

“Listen, Don,” Alan interrupted in an attempt to ease the tension. “Once I get Charlie home and settled I’ll come back for a visit, okay?”

Don’s stomach twisted anxiously at the thought of spending time alone with his father. Although he hadn’t said as much, Don knew he must be angry with him. He had every right to be, after all.

“You should stay with Charlie tonight, Dad,” he said, his tone flat. “I’m just gonna sleep straight through ‘til tomorrow anyways.”

His father looked torn, but after a moment’s deliberation, he nodded. “If you’re sure?”

“I’m sure. I’ll be fine, don’t worry,” Don said. He wasn’t at all surprised to see the relief in his father’s eyes. 

“The Doc says you’ll be released tomorrow morning, so long as everything goes smoothly tonight. So I’ll be back to take you home then,” Alan said.

Don didn’t have a chance to argue because the orderly chose that moment to come and take Charlie away to get his cast. They waved their farewells and promised to see him in the morning and then they were gone.

Don was left alone in the hospital room with nothing but his dark thoughts to keep him company. How could he possibly stay at the house with Charlie and his dad? He couldn’t be under the same roof as his brother right now - not with the kind of thoughts he’d been having. It certainly wouldn’t take long before their father figured out how fucked up he was now, and things could only end badly.

He would just have to figure out a way to avoid them until he could find a new place to live. The farther away from Charlie, the better.


	18. Chapter 18

Alan Eppes was doing his best to keep his family from falling apart, but despite his efforts, his could tell his sons were suffering. He could see it when they looked at him - like there was nothing left of them but walking shells, the light extinguished behind their eyes.

Don, who’d never been much for talking, was now virtually silent. In the five days since bringing him home from the hospital Alan could count on one hand the number of times Don had been in the same room as either him or Charlie without the buffer of visiting friends between them. 

Sometimes he’d catch him watching Charlie, but never when he thought anyone would notice. It killed him to see how sad he looked in those moments. Or worse; sometimes he’d looked away, angry, and would take off before Charlie even knew he was there. 

But mostly Don spent his time anywhere but at home. After spending the first day back from the hospital holed up in his old bedroom, he’d returned to work. Or, at least that’s what he’d told Alan. When Alan had called David to ask how his son was doing, he’d said that he hadn’t seen him and that he was on a mandatory one-week sick leave. What he got up to while he was away from home was a mystery, but more times than not, his son would return home with a new bruise or hiding a limp.

Then there was Charlie, who was trying so hard to be positive, even though his smiles never reached his eyes. It was a struggle for him to get around on his crutches, with both his feet so badly injured, but he refused to use the wheelchair they’d rented. He said using it hurt his arms too much and he didn’t want to put anyone out having to push him around.

The fact that he’d said that while looking longingly in the direction of his brother told Alan that Charlie was very much aware of Don’s avoidance. Every time Don made some excuse to get out of spending time with Charlie it was like another nail being driven into his youngest son, and it was slowly eating away at him.

Now, six days after Richard had thrown their lives into a tailspin, their physical injuries were well on the mend, and Alan knew he needed to address the rest of the damage his uncle had inflicted upon them. Alan decided it was time to have a heart to heart with his boys.

Charlie was the easiest to corner - he was spending pretty much all his time in the garage, working on some problem that looked more like that p vs. np thing than his cognitive emergence work. It was a sure sign that his son was slipping away from them, and proof that he needed to pull him back before it was too late.

Shortly after breakfast, Alan gathered up a glass of orange juice and a croissant in his good hand and headed into the garage, intending to offer them up as a bribe. He found Charlie exactly where he expected him - covered in chalk dust and hobbling back and forth on his crutches between two blackboards.

“Any chance I can drag you away from your boards to have something to eat?” Alan asked. 

At first he wasn’t sure if Charlie had even heard him, but eventually he swiveled on his crutches to face him. It was the same empty expression he’d seen for days now.

“C’mon, humour your old man,” he said, placing the plate and glass on the air hockey table like a peace offering.

A small, sad smile briefly crossed Charlie’s face and he came over to stand next to him, leaning the crutches against the table so he could grab the croissant.

“Thanks,” he said.

That was all - just the one word, but Alan was grateful he’d gotten a response at all. It wasn’t too late; he hadn't disappeared into his equations just yet.

"You wanna talk about it?" Alan asked, ducking his head to see Charlie's eyes beneath the curtain of his curls. "I know something's eating away at you, Charlie. If you tell me what it is, maybe I can help."

Charlie dropped the croissant back onto the plate and cautiously lifted his head to look back at him. After a moment’s deliberation, he asked; "What if it's something you don't want to hear?"

"Son, there's nothing you could say that I can't handle," Alan replied. "I know I never told you boys about what happened between me and my Uncle Richard when I was a kid, but I swear, I never dreamed he'd go after you and Donny the way he did. You have no idea how much I wish I'd warned you about him. Maybe...maybe if I had..."

"Dad, don't," said Charlie. "Don't beat yourself up about it. It's not like Don and I told you he was the focus of our investigation. How could you possibly know we were in danger?"

Alan felt like he'd been kicked in the guts. "Actually...I did kind of find out that he was out of prison. But I figured he was an old man, living on the other side of the country, and I was ancient history to him. I should have known better."

Charlie seemed to think about it for a moment. "Don and I knew Weiss was coming after us; we just didn't know why. But maybe if we'd told you about the case...about how all those kids he killed looked like me and Don...maybe we could have caught him before it was too late. So it's just as much our fault."

Charlie hung his head and grabbed his crutches, heading over to the old couch. He sank into the overstuffed cushions and proceeded to stare down at his chalky fingers.

"Is that what's been on your mind?" Alan asked, going over to sit next to him.

Charlie shook his head, but wouldn't look at him.

"Then what is it?" he asked, placing a large, warm hand on his son's shoulder.

Without looking up, Charlie half-whispered, "Do you think he'll ever be able to look at me again?"

Alan didn't have to ask to know he was talking about Don. Of course Charlie had noticed Don was avoiding him, and a spark of anger lit in Alan's chest. He was going to have to have a serious talk with his oldest son next, it seemed.

"Don's just working things out the only way he knows how," Alan replied, giving Charlie's shoulder a friendly squeeze. "He'll come around."

"I don't think he will," Charlie said. "If you saw the way he looks at me now...it's like I make him sick. And it's because..." Charlie's voice petered out and he seemed to shrink into the couch even further.

Alan knew he was getting close to the real problem now. "Because what?" he asked, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible, afraid of scaring him off.

Charlie's mumbled answer was almost impossible to make out, but it sounded like he’d said, "Because I liked it."

Charlie's face burned hot pink, and Alan figured he'd heard right. It was so far from what he was expecting to hear that it stunned him into silence.

After a prolonged moment's awkwardness, Charlie pulled himself back to his feet and limped painfully over to the nearest blackboard, leaving his crutches behind. But instead of staring at his work, he kept his eyes down, his arms crossed defensively across his chest. "Just...forget I said anything."

This was the turning point, and Alan could either let the matter drop and risk losing his son to his math, or he could reach out to him. The only problem was that he didn't know what to say? What exactly was Charlie telling him? 

"Charlie, it's okay," Alan said, coming around to stand in front of his son, blocking him from the temptation of the boards. "You can talk to me. I'm not gonna let what Richard did to us break us apart. It's not gonna happen - not if I have anything to say about it."

Charlie peered up at him as if deciding how much he should say, and Alan did his best to look open and understanding.

"What if...what if I told you I think I might be gay?" Charlie said, his eyes wide with something akin to fear.

"Then I would support you in any way I could. Do you really think I'd ever turn my back on you over something like that?" Alan answered without missing a beat.

Charlie shook his head and looked slightly ashamed. "No."

"But if you ask me, you've been through a very traumatic experience and you're probably just a bit confused, that's all. Give it some time - I think you and Amita..."

Charlie coughed out a mirthless laugh, preventing him from finishing his thought.

"Amita and I are over, Dad," he said. "And now that I've had time to really think about it I'm beginning to understand that the only reason we stayed together as long as we did was because everyone expected us to. I never really loved her - not the way I was supposed to. I've never really loved anyone that way, and now I think I know why."

Alan took a good look into Charlie's eyes and saw how earnest he was. "You've really thought a lot about this, huh?" he asked.

"I haven't been able to think about much else," Charlie replied.

"Because if this is about what happened with you and Don..."

"Of course it's about that! I never...I never knew..." Charlie sputtered to a stop, looking frustrated and defiant. "Can we please not talk about this right now?" he pleaded.

"If that's what you really want. I'll, uh, I'll be inside if you change your mind." Alan knew better than to press him further - he'd only end up scaring him off entirely. 

***

 

Charlie felt bad for snapping at his dad the way he had - he was only trying to help. But talking about it was like ripping open wounds that hadn't even begun to heal yet. It hurt more than he could express that the one person he wanted to be with didn't want to have anything to do with him. But he couldn't very well tell his dad that.

At first he'd thought Don had felt it, too. Every time he caught a glimpse of his brother now, he thought about that moment in the hospital when he'd seen that look in his eyes. He was sure he hadn't imagined it.

And yet Don hadn't spent a single moment alone with him since he'd come back from the hospital.

Charlie stared at his blackboards, his work on cognitive emergence pushed off to the side and p vs. np beckoning to him. It would be so easy to slip back into the comfort of numbers and the mysteries that lurked beneath. But he owed it to his dad to make an effort to be there for him.

With little appetite, he forced himself to finish the croissant and juice. Then, with his dishes awkwardly balanced between his arm and one of his crutches, Charlie left the garage. It was slow going, and he had to stop and adjust his grip every few steps, but eventually he made it to the kitchen door. 

Setting the dishes down to open the door, Charlie froze, hearing raised voices coming from inside. Don was in there, and he and his father were discussing something. Very loudly. 

Charlie snuck into the kitchen as quietly as he could, guessing that they were just on the other side of the dining room door. He felt a bit guilty, eavesdropping like this, but he knew it was the only way he'd find out what was really going on between them. 

He'd felt the tension between Don and his dad from the moment Don woke up in the hospital. As much as his father kept saying he didn't want what happened to break up the family, it was definitely taking its toll. 

It was getting harder to hear what they were saying, probably because they'd moved away from the dining room. Charlie chanced opening the door an inch to peek out and saw that they'd taken their argument to the living room. As quietly as he could, he inched the door open until he had a clear view of them. They had their backs turned to him, and the dining hutch concealed him pretty well, so he figured he wouldn't be spotted.

"...So you thought you could sneak out of here this morning without getting caught, is that it?" his father was saying. "Didn't want us to notice the shiner? What's going on with you, Don? And don't tell me you got this chasing down a suspect - I talked to David, and I know you haven't been going in to work all week. What have you been doing? Where do you go all day?"

Don was pacing, like a tiger in a cage, and even from a distance Charlie could see he was barely holding it together.

"It was a mistake for me to stay here," Don said and tried to skirt around Alan.

"It would be an even bigger mistake for you to leave," Alan argued, planting himself firmly in Don's way. "Can't you at least go to the garage and say hello to Charlie? He's starting to take your avoidance tactics personally."

"I can't," Don stated flatly.

"Yes, you can!" Alan insisted. "Your brother's barely holding his head above water, you know. The least you can do is be there for him."

"I said, I can't, Dad!"

"Why not? Can you at least tell me that?" Alan pressed. When Don remained resolutely silent, he tried another approach. "Or is Charlie right? He thinks he disgusts you now - that you can't even look at him anymore. Should I be going back in there and telling him he's right? Why are you pushing him away?"

"Don't you get it?" Don finally exploded. "I slept with him! I slept with my _brother!_ "

From the shadows, Charlie winced. It hurt to hear those words ripped from his brother’s mouth, to realise that Don had been suffering so much over what they’d done. It took all his willpower to stay where he was and not interfere; Don and his dad needed to get this out in the open.

"You say that like I wasn't there!" Alan shot back at him. 

"Yeah. You were there. Which is why you haven't come within three feet of me ever since. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?" Don sounded more anguished than angry, the pain he’d been bottling up for nearly a week coming out in a ragged shout. "You know what Weiss did to me - he turned me into some kind of…of _freak_! And I'm so fucked up now, I can't even bear to be near my own brother. And it sure as hell isn't because he disgusts me - I wish to God it was!"

Don used their father's stunned silence to make his escape, brushing past him to get to the door. He didn't look back, just slammed the door behind him on his way out.

"Well that could have gone better," Alan mumbled to what he assumed was an empty room.

Charlie stood frozen to the spot in the shadows of the dining hutch. Surely Don didn't mean what it sounded like, because if that was the case, it went a long way to explaining a few things. He’d guessed that Don was still wallowing in a quagmire of guilt - add to that an attraction that he clearly believed was twisted and wrong…

The same kind of attraction that Charlie felt for him...

Suddenly Charlie felt nauseous, and in his haste to disappear back into the kitchen, he knocked over his crutches and half-toppled over, smacking his back against the door frame. The loud clatter that followed alerted his father to his presence and he found himself staring into his dad’s startled eyes.

“How much of that did you hear?” Alan asked.

“Enough,” Charlie managed to reply, swallowing against his urge to be sick.

His dad approached him slowly, hands out, like he was creeping up on a skittish deer in the woods. “Let me give you a hand, Charlie.”

Charlie let him pick up the fallen crutches and even accepted the hand up to get him back on his feet again. But as soon as he was upright, he pulled out of his father’s grasp. Charlie was shaking, with confusion and undirected anger, and all he wanted was to be left alone with his thoughts. 

He headed straight for the stairs, intent on going up to his room where he could close his door on the rest of the world. But Alan followed him every step of the way, his arms outstretched like he was shielding him from a fall. Half way up the stairs Charlie couldn’t hold back any longer.

“He wasn’t wrong, you know,” Charlie said, stopping to face his dad. “When Don said that you haven’t gotten within three feet of him - he’s not wrong. Do you blame him for what happened?”

“What? No. Of course not!” Alan answered, sounding offended. 

“It’s just...you say you’re not mad at him, but it doesn’t come off that way,” Charlie said.

Alan looked at him and replied, seriously and sincerely; “I may not treat Donny the same way as you, but that’s because you’re two very different people. Don’s always been so independent - you know how much he hates showing weakness. And when he’s been hurt, he needs his space.”

Charlie nodded slowly, mulling it over. “Dad...I think I could use a little space myself, right now. It’s just - I have a lot to think about, you know?”

Alan dropped his gaze to his feet and sighed. “I’m hovering, aren’t I?”

“Maybe a little,” Charlie admitted.

“Alright. But you’ll be down for dinner,” his dad said, as much a question as a statement.

“Promise,” Charlie answered, and struggled the rest of the way up the stairs alone. 

***

 

Alan had just got comfortable on the sofa when he heard Charlie shouting for him from upstairs. His heart immediately lodged itself in his throat and he was storming up the stairs with the speed of a man half his age.

He threw open the door to Charlie's bedroom to find his son sitting on the edge of his bed, a piece of paper clutched in his hands. Charlie was slowly rocking back and forth, and his face was ashen with shock.

"Charlie! What is it?" asked Alan. When Charlie didn't answer, he took the initiative and pried the paper out of his son's hand. He instantly recognized the handwriting as Don's, and he got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

_Charlie,_  
_You know I've never been good at goodbyes, but I figure I owe you this much at least. I'd hate for you to spend the rest of your life worrying that I did this because of you. This isn't your fault. It's all down to me; I'm broken, and I can't be fixed. I'm sorry, Charlie. I hope someday you'll be able to forgive me for leaving you behind.  
Don._

Ice spread through Alan's veins as he read the words his son had left for Charlie to find. Charlie was still rocking in place, his face pinched in gut-wrenching sorrow unlike anything Alan had ever seen before.

"Charlie, listen to me," Alan said, taking his son's shoulders firmly in his hands, forcing him to make eye contact. "I'm going to find him and bring him home. Do you hear me?" 

Alan received a flicker of hope in response, before Charlie’s expression went blank and he was lost in his own thoughts again. He hated leaving him alone like that while he went off in search of Don, but he had a feeling time was of the essence, and he had no idea where to begin looking for him.

With one last look at Charlie, Alan headed out, praying he wasn't too late.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special warning: this chapter deals with a suicide attempt. If this is a sensitive issue, be advised that you might want to skip ahead.

Alan was on the freeway, talking on his cell phone to David. He was driving far more recklessly than usual, but he was too frazzled to care. A car horn blared at him when he cut too close in front of another car, and that jolted Alan enough to make him concentrate harder on the road.

"So you'll keep me posted?" he asked. David assured him that he'd keep him updated on their search efforts and they hung up.

With no real idea where to begin looking on his own, Alan headed downtown towards the Federal Building. He figured the best way he could help was to be on hand in case they needed his input. Plus, if he was honest, he didn't entirely trust Don's team to stay on task - not when that Agent Jessop was still in charge. 

When he showed up unannounced at Don's office, no one was really surprised to see him. David caught him as he was coming down the hallway to the bull pen and pulled him aside into an unused office.

"We've put out a BOLO for Don's SUV, and we've sent his description out to the LAPD. We'll find him," David said.

Alan nodded. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

David hesitated before he spoke. "You could tell us what's going on? You said on the phone that he took off and that he might be in danger. What is it he's caught up in? Maybe that'll give us an idea where to start looking."

Alan knew he was asking David and the others to work with one hand tied behind their backs, but he couldn't tell them he thought his son was self-destructing. He'd promised to keep their secret, and it was a promise he intended to keep. If the FBI knew what kind of mental state Don was in right now, he'd never be allowed to return to active duty.

But what David said sparked an idea - he knew where Don's head was at - all he needed to do was put himself in his son's shoes. If he was planning on leaving, or worse, he'd probably want to go home first. Tie up a few loose ends, maybe. Possibly pack a few things. Or...if his worst fears were realised, Alan knew that most suicides took place at home. He hated himself for thinking it, but he also knew he'd be fooling himself if he didn't admit that's what Don's note implied he was going to do.

It seemed almost too simple, and he would probably come away empty-handed, but he had to look for him somewhere, and right now it was the only idea he had. 

"Sorry, David, I've gotta go," he blurted and retraced his steps back to the elevator, barely acknowledging David's 'we'll keep you posted' with a wave of his hand.

The drive to Don's apartment building seemed to take forever. Had traffic always been this bad at this time of day? Alan was pretty sure fate was playing a cruel trick on him, bringing traffic to a crawl when he was in a desperate rush to get to his son.

After blatantly breaking a few traffic laws, Alan finally arrived outside Don's building. Looking up, he saw that there was scaffolding and plastic tarp snapping in the wind where the bomb had blasted a hole through the outside wall. Just that simple reminder of what happened here made Alan's stomach twist in knots, and he started to doubt that Don could ever voluntarily return here.

But he was here now, and he had to go in there whether he wanted to or not. Alan parked across the street and forced himself to put one foot in front of the other until he was inside.

Despite a week's passing, the lobby still smelled vaguely of smoke and there was a fine film of white dust over every surface. Alan was glad to see that the elevator was working, because he really never wanted to set foot in that stairwell again for as long as he lived. Just the thought of it brought him right back to the moment when he stood staring down at his two unconscious children, both of them covered in blood and looking for all the world like they were dead.

The elevator opened just as he was approaching it and a young woman exited, skirting around him like she was afraid he would attack. Not surprising, considering the news coverage that had followed the bombing. Everyone in the building was probably on high alert, knowing there'd been a serial killer amongst them only days before.

Don's name and photo had been splashed across the local and national news, but thankfully, Alan and Charlie had been spared the publicity, simply being referred to as ‘Agent Eppes' family’ in all the reports. Alan had a feeling he had Megan, David and Colby to thank for that.

Getting off on Don’s floor, Alan walked down the familiar hallway, now made unfamiliar by the thick coating of soot on the walls and ceiling and the damp plywood underfoot where the carpet had been taken up. The hole in the wall caused by the blast was now boarded up, and Don’s apartment door was criss-crossed with yellow crime scene tape. Upon closer inspection, it looked like it had been recently tampered with, and Alan felt a surge of hope.

He tested the lock, not surprised to find it locked. Thankfully his son had given him a key in case of emergencies - God knew, this counted as one. Alan ripped off the tape, not in the least bit concerned about contaminating an active crime scene when his son’s life could be at stake. He unlocked the door with trembling hands and pushed his way inside.

Don’s apartment was almost unrecognisable. The kitchen and living room were nothing but a blackened husk - the blue tarp covering the gaping hole in the outside wall lending the place an eerie, underwater quality. There was a sour-ash reek hanging in the air that got into his nose and would likely never leave. But the most disturbing thing of all was the eerie silence of the place. It wasn’t just empty - it felt hollowed out and barren, like it would never see joy again.

“Don? You in here?” he called out.

He didn’t hear anything in response, but a feeling niggled at the back of his head that Don was here and didn’t want him to know. He followed his gut instinct and headed towards Don’s bedroom.

The door was wide open, and sitting on the bed with his sidearm in his hand, was Don. His shoulders were slumped, his head hanging down as if he was contemplating the Glock held loosely in his lap.

"Don!" Alan's heart stuttered in his chest as he ran the short distance to his son's side. Snatching the gun out of Don's hand, he noted that the safety was off and the metal was warm from his son's grip. He set it down carefully, out of Don's reach.

"I couldn't do it," Don half-whispered. "I tried...but I just couldn't." Don's red-rimmed eyes peered up at him and Alan's chest tightened painfully, seeing the torment his son was going through.

"Don, no!" Alan wheezed through a throat tight with fear and grabbed Don by the shoulders, pulling him into a crushing hug.

At first Don didn't respond - just sat there, passively accepting Alan's embrace. But then he suddenly crumpled, sagging against him, his shoulders heaving with his silent sobs. 

"It's okay, Donny, let it all out. Everything will be okay. Shh..." Alan rubbed wide, soothing circles over his son's back, speaking to him like he used to when he was a little boy, scared from whatever nightmare he'd woken up from.

They stayed that way for several long minutes, Don purging all the pent-up grief and pain he'd withheld since Weiss' attack. When he finally ran out of tears, Don let go of the death grip he'd had around Alan's waist and pulled away. 

"I'm sorry, Dad," he said, wiping his face dry on his sleeve.

"There's no need to apologise," Alan argued. "If anyone should be apologising, it's me. I wasn't there for you like I should have been. I realise that now. It's just...you've always been so much stronger than me and Charlie - so much like your mom. I should have seen how much you were hurting.”

“How can you not hate me right now?” Don asked in a small voice.

“Son, I could never hate you. Not ever, do you hear me?” Alan responded, wrapping a protective arm around Don’s shoulder.

“I don’t think you’d say that if you knew the kinds of things that’ve been going through my head lately,” Don said, eyes studiously avoiding looking at Alan.

“Try me,” Alan replied, doing his best to sound convincing. “I promised that I wouldn’t let what happened tear our family apart, and I meant it.”

Don stared down at his empty hands and shook his head sadly. “What if I told you that Weiss was right? I’m in love with Charlie,” he stated bluntly, then shrank back a couple of inches when Alan withdrew his arm and hissed in a shocked breath.

He’d said it. He’d actually come right out and said it and now Alan couldn’t pretend ignorance anymore. The longing looks Don had been sending Charlie’s way, and the self-disgust that crossed his face afterwards - he’d seen it all and deliberately misunderstood. 

The question was, where did they go from here? Could he really condone the kind of relationship Don was suggesting he wanted? It was about as far from the kind of future he’d wanted for his sons as it was possible to get. But he couldn’t erase the image in his mind of Don sitting alone in this room with a gun, ready to take his own life, and that was just unacceptable. 

He knew that Don hadn’t chosen to feel this way, and in the end, Alan couldn’t fault him for it. All he could do was offer him his love and support and hope for the best.

Having made up his mind (and praying that he wasn’t making the biggest mistake of his life), Alan straightened his spine and bravely forged ahead.

“Well...that explains a few things,” Alan replied with a wry smile on his face.

Don looked up at him in disbelief. 

“What? You think I’m blind?” Alan retorted. “I was there, remember? I saw the two of you together, and it was pretty obvious how you felt about Charlie. I guess...I was just hoping it was a heat-of-the-moment thing, you know?”

Don nodded, his brow furrowed in thought. “But it wasn't. And now you know why I…” Don’s voice trailed away as he glanced at the discarded weapon resting at the foot of the bed. “I thought it would help if I stayed away, but that only made it worse. Charlie is everything to me, Dad - when I think about a life without him in it...I can’t...I can’t breathe.”

“You really love him, don’t you?” Alan said - a statement more than a question, because he already knew the answer.

“More than anything. More than life itself,” Don replied earnestly, his weary gaze at last lifting up to meet Alan’s.

“And you would never do anything to hurt him?” Alan asked.

“I’d rather die; you know that,” Don said, his grim expression telling Alan that it wasn’t just an empty threat.

Alan nodded. “Then you should talk to him. Tell him what you told me.”

Don looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “You can’t be serious,” he said at last. When Alan’s only response was a quirked eyebrow, Don shook his head in amazement. “If I told him how I felt I’d lose him forever.”

“It’s a possibility,” Alan agreed, honestly. “But after the conversation I had with your brother this morning, I’m guessing you’re not entirely alone in your feelings.”

"Oh yeah?” Don asked, his eyes sparking with life for the first time in a week, “What'd he say?"

"Let's just say it's been quite the day for revelations," Alan replied cryptically. "Come on, let's get you home."

***

 

Don had never felt so emotionally drained in his life. Not even after his mom had died. The rollercoaster of emotions he'd been riding all week had finally derailed and if his dad hadn't been there to catch him, he might have actually ended up pulling the trigger.

The ride home was filled with the sound of his father's voice, keeping up a steady patter of one-sided small-talk. Don was still in shock over his dad's reaction to his confession. He didn't really know what to make of it - was he really okay with it? Or was he just saying what Don needed to hear to talk him off the ledge?

Not that it really mattered, he supposed. It wasn't like Charlie could ever accept or return his feelings. And even if he did, they could never act on those feelings. Could they?

Don's eyes slid over to his dad as the car turned into their driveway. His father was putting on a brave face because he was desperate to hold the family together, but if he and Charlie actually got together...

The engine shut off, plunging the car into silence, and Don realised his father was looking at him expectantly.

"What?" Don asked.

"Go on - talk to him. He's upstairs in his room. Or at least he was when I left."

"Aren't you coming in?" Don asked, feeling suddenly afraid to face Charlie on his own, which was ridiculous. After all, what was the worst that could happen? He'd already sunk as low as he could go - being rejected and shunned by his own brother couldn't make him feel any worse than he already felt.

"Nah. I've got some errands I need to run. Besides, I think this is something you really don't want your old man around for," Alan said. "Now go - Charlie needs to know you're okay."

A flash of guilt heated Don's cheeks - he just remembered the note he'd left for Charlie to find, and he could well imagine what reading it must have done to him. He nodded solemnly and climbed out of the car.

He waited until his father had driven away before taking his first heavy steps towards the front door. His hands were clammy and his feet felt like they were made of lead. Once inside, he had to force himself to climb the stairs when his gut was telling him he should turn around and run away. Run as fast and as far away as he could go and never return.

But Charlie was up there, thinking the worst and it wasn’t right to let him suffer like that. He needed to talk to him - tell him the truth, no matter how painful it might be. Charlie deserved that, at least. 

The door to Charlie’s bedroom stood open and Don took a steadying breath before taking those last few steps. It felt like he was about to face a firing squad and he was terrified.

But when he finally caught sight of his brother, sitting so still on his bed with Don’s note gripped tightly in his hands, it tore at his heart. His fear dissipated on the spot and he instantly slipped into protective big brother mode.

“Charlie?” he said, ducking his head to try and catch his brother’s eye. When Charlie didn’t answer, Don took another couple of steps closer and squatted down in front of him so that he was at eye level with him. 

“Charlie?” he tried again. Still he got no response, his brother still staring blankly down at the paper in his hands. “Charlie, it’s me. Can you hear me? Come on, Buddy, you’re scaring me here.”

Just when Don was about to shake him by the shoulder, Charlie at last looked up at him. His eyes took too long to focus - like he was coming back from some far off place in his mind. After a frighteningly long time, recognition finally dawned behind those dark brown eyes.

“Don?” he said, sounding so unsure of himself.

“Yeah, Charlie. It’s me. I’m here,” Don answered, relieved to hear his brother’s voice, having been worried that his stupid stunt had broken him where Weiss hadn’t been able to. 

“I thought...I thought you were gone, and it was my fault. And then I couldn’t think at all. There was nothing. Even my numbers were gone. That’s never happened before.” 

Charlie’s voice was eerily flat, and his face was pale and blank, and Don started to get worried again.

“Charlie, listen to me - I’m here, all right? I’m so sorry for scaring you. I swear I never wanted to hurt you,” Don said, placing his hand on Charlie’s cheek, feeling skin that was too cool and clammy and realising that his brother was in shock.

“You’re really here?” Charlie asked and placed his own hand over Don’s on his cheek. “Not dreaming?”

“No, Buddy - it’s really me.”

And then Don was knocked to his knees as Charlie threw himself into his arms. His brother wrapped him in a desperate, tight hug, and his words were almost lost, with his face buried in Don’s neck.

“Don’t ever do that to me again! Don’t you _dare_! I’ve never been so scared in my life!”

Don hugged him back just as fiercely, breathing in the warm scent of his brother’s hair and wishing he could be happy with just this. "I won't, I promise," he said, planting a soft kiss on the top of his brother's head.

Charlie pulled away abruptly, and Don worried that he'd overstepped his bounds. But Charlie's eyes flicked down to look at Don's mouth and when they returned to meet his eyes again, they were dark with need.

Don's heart lurched in his chest, but before he had time to build up to a full panic, Charlie's lips were on his, eager and demanding. Don's brain short-circuited and he moaned into the kiss, opening his mouth to let Charlie in.

Charlie's tongue played alongside his, mapping out every corner of his mouth, learning him all over again. Strong hands held his head in place, refusing to let him pull away - blunt fingers stroking through his short hair and gently dancing over the buzzed patch where he'd needed stitches.

Don knew he should put a stop to this before it went too far, but he couldn't seem to do it. Instead, he pulled Charlie in closer, until he could feel the fast thumping of his brother's heartbeat against his chest.

Eventually, though, it became necessary to breathe and Charlie ended the kiss, nipping at Don's lips before pulling back enough to look at him. Charlie's eyes were bright and he had the largest grin Don had ever seen on his face.

"Oh, thank God!" Charlie said, his hands still clasped around Don's neck. "I thought I was the only one!" 

As Charlie peppered his face with tickling kisses, Don couldn't help smiling back.


	20. Chapter 20

Charlie couldn’t stop touching Don. He’d never felt such cold, stark fear as he had when he’d thought Don might be dead - gone forever. And to have him back, and to know he felt the same way on top of it… caused such a drastic swing in his mood that he was left feeling shaky and on edge - like the slightest breeze could shatter him to pieces.

Don let him smother him with kisses, and seeing his eyes crinkle up in a smile for the first time in ages made him want to go on kissing him forever. But kneeling on the floor was really starting to hurt. Reluctantly, Charlie let Don go and attempted to get back up to the bed. 

He was a little embarrassed when he had to ask Don for help, but it was worth it to have his brother gather him up in his arms and lay him out on the bed. For a moment, Charlie thought Don might take things further, but when he looked down at him, his smile was gone and he seemed anxious.

“Don…” Charlie said, “whatever it is you’re thinking, you need to stop it - I can’t lose you again. I don’t think I could take it.” He hated how shaky his voice was almost as much as he hated seeing the guilt that flashed across his brother's face.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am for doing that to you,” Don replied. Charlie tried to sit up, but Don placed a hand on his chest, right where Weiss had branded him with an ‘x’, and held him in place. 

“Just...just hear me out,” Don continued. “My head’s been in a really bad place, lately, and I don’t want to scare you, but if Dad hadn’t found me...hell - I honestly don’t know what I would have done, Charlie. But I can tell you, my thoughts got pretty damn dark. I couldn’t see another way out, you know?”

Charlie’s throat was so tight he couldn’t get out a reply, all he could do was nod his head, encouraging his brother to go on, even if he was afraid to hear what he was going to say. Maybe he’d misread him earlier. Maybe Don really didn’t want him that way. Or maybe he did, and it was too much for him to deal with.

“What Weiss made me do to you...I hope you know that I would never have done that if I didn't think it was the only way to keep you and Dad alive. I’m your brother!"

“Don…” Charlie wheezed, feeling like someone was tightening a vice around his chest, his worst fears seemingly confirmed.

“Shh, Charlie. Just...let me finish, okay?” Don said, taking a few seconds to gather up his courage again. “Like I said, I never thought of you that way, and even if I had, I would never have acted on it. But when I kissed you...it was like the floodgates had opened, and everything I felt for you just came pouring out. 

"I’ve been trying so hard to deny it, but I can’t do it anymore. I love you, Charlie. I’m in love with you. And it’s not fair of me to dump this on you, when looking at me must remind you of the most terrifying night of your life. But I also know it’s not fair of me hide the truth from you. You have the right to know and I’ll leave it up to you to decide if you want me to stay or not. Whatever you decide, I’ll honour it. I made a promise to Dad that I would never do anything to hurt you, even if it means staying away from you.”

Charlie’s head was reeling from Don’s confession. Outside of Dr. Bradford’s office, he’d never heard his brother string together more than a few words at a time on the subject of his feelings. It was like he was clearing the air - purging himself for a final farewell. Charlie shook his head. It baffled him that Don could be so blind that he couldn’t see what was right in front of him.

“You done beating yourself up now?” Charlie asked. “How can you possibly think I’d ever turn you away? That night, when you made love to me - and don’t even think of arguing that it was anything else - it was...well, it was life-altering. And I’m not being over-dramatic. God! All I’ve wanted since then was to feel you inside me again! I love you, Don! In every possible sense of the word!”

Charlie flushed hotly at his admission, and saw a matching blush rising in Don’s cheeks. But he didn’t care. If Don could admit his feelings, so could he. It made him feel lighter, like a massive weight had been lifted off his shoulders and he could breathe again.

“You mean that?” Don asked. “‘Cause I’m not just talking about some fleeting infatuation, here. For me, this isn't just about sex. If we do this, I’m all in. And it won’t be easy, you gotta know that. So if you’re not sure this is what you want, tell me now.”

“I’m sure,” Charlie replied, fixing Don with a solemn expression before pulling his brother down on top of him and sliding his hands up his back. “I swear, I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

Don studied his face for a moment, as if deciding whether or not he was telling the truth, then he tentatively brought their lips together in a chaste kiss. When he drew back, Charlie tried to follow, but Don held him at arm's length.

“Let’s not rush this, okay?” Don said, countering his words with a soft, open-mouthed kiss just below Charlie’s ear that made him squirm. “I want to do this right. Take it slow and make sure it’s what you really want.”

“It is,” Charlie protested, and proved it by grinding his hips up into Don’s to show him just how much he wanted him.

“Good. That’s...Jesus! That’s good,” Don groaned. But to Charlie’s dismay, all he did was roll onto his side and pull Charlie close until he was spooned up behind him. With their bodies pressed together from head to foot, there was no hiding Don's keen interest in taking things further. “But today I just need to hold you and know that you’re okay with it. Frankly, I’m too exhausted for much else right now, anyway. It’s been a long day.”

Charlie felt Don nuzzle up close, his nose rooting around at the base of his hairline and he shivered. He knew Don was right - there was no rush - and the emotional turmoil of the last few hours had completely worn him out, too.

“You promise you won’t chicken out on me?” Charlie asked.

Don kissed the back of his neck. “I’m yours for as long as you’ll have me,” he promised, and squeezed Charlie tight up against his body in a one-armed hug.

Charlie felt warm and safe and happier than he’d felt in a long time. In a matter of minutes, he was fast asleep, tucked securely against the solid heat of his brother.

***

 

Alan Eppes entered his home with some trepidation. He almost felt like he should ring the doorbell, in case he walked in on something. Of course he knew his sons wouldn’t do anything where he could just walk in on them. Hell, for all he knew, Charlie had turned Don down and he could be walking in on a whole different kind of aftermath.

He’d spent the last few hours driving around and thinking. Life had really thrown him a curveball with this one. He’d already decided that he’d support his boys no matter what they decided to do - or not do - about their feelings for each other. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. It hurt like hell, knowing what this could mean for his kids. And if he was honest, the idea that he would never see his children get married and have kids of their own weighed heavy in his heart.

“Boys? I’m home,” Alan called out. He didn’t get an answer, but he hadn’t really yelled loud enough to be heard upstairs. He thought about calling them again, and decided not to.

Instead, he set the bag of groceries he’d brought home down on the dining room table and headed up the stairs. Maybe he was testing his resolve, to see if he could really handle seeing them together. Maybe he was trying to prove to the boys that he was okay with it. It didn’t matter. He just needed to know, one way or the other, what they’d decided.

As he came up on Charlie’s open doorway, he slowed his steps, listening carefully. He couldn’t hear anything that would indicate they needed their privacy, and Alan was pretty sure they wouldn’t leave the door open if they were...indisposed.

He peeked his head around the doorframe, holding his breath out of fear of what he’d find. But all he saw was the two of them, fully clothed - thank God - curled up together on top of the blankets, fast asleep. Don’s arm was wrapped protectively around Charlie’s chest, and they both looked so peaceful.

He felt a bitter-sweet pang in his chest seeing the two of them together like that. He’d wanted the world for his sons, but more than that, he wanted them to be happy. If this was what made them happy, he’d just have to learn to deal with it.

Alan withdrew from the doorway and quietly returned downstairs, leaving his boys to sleep a while longer.

***

 

Don woke to the wonderful smell of roasting meat. It smelled like steak, and it was coming from their backyard, he was sure of it.

Charlie was still asleep in his arms, and Don took a moment to indulge himself. His eyes pored over his brother’s sleeping form, taking in every whisker on his face, every ringlet of his hair, tracing the long line of muscle in his arm and the strong hands that, in waking, were constantly in motion but were now still and lax against the covers.

Don’s lips hovered above Charlie’s shoulder where his t-shirt had pulled away from his skin. He was so close he could feel the heat from his bare skin, warming his lips. He breathed in deeply, revelling in his brother’s scent, which was quickly becoming a trigger for him. Already he could feel himself getting hard, and he hadn’t even touched Charlie yet.

Don squeezed his eyes shut and willed his body to behave. If he was right, their dad was downstairs barbecuing their dinner, and whatever his dick had in mind would have to wait. 

Gently, Don shook Charlie’s shoulder, smiling when his brother’s face scrunched up in annoyance.

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” Don whispered in his ear, letting his lips brush against the baby-soft flesh of Charlie’s earlobe.

Charlie moaned and twisted around to face him, his sleepy eyes blinking at him as a languid smile spread across his face. “I could get used to waking up like this,” he said, nudging Don’s nose with his own before teasing his lips with a plush kiss.

Now it was Don’s turn to moan, but more out of frustration. “Hold that thought, Buddy. Dad’s home, and I think he’s grilling up some steaks.”

“Dad?” Charlie sat up abruptly and looked like he wanted to hide under the bed. “Don - what if he saw us?” he asked, sounding panicked.

Don took up a position behind him and rubbed his shoulders soothingly. “It’s okay. He knows.”

Charlie craned his neck to look him in the eye. “What do you mean, ‘he knows’?”

“I told him everything I told you. He knows how I feel about you, and I think he had a pretty good idea that you felt the same way about me,” Don answered.

“And you’re telling me he’s okay with it?” Charlie asked in disbelief.

Don shrugged. “He’s the one who pushed me to come and talk to you.” He could practically see the wheels turning in Charlie’s head and figured there was no point putting off the inevitable. “Come on. We might as well face the music, huh?”

He took Charlie's hand in his, helping him to his feet, and they stood there for a minute, just holding hands like a couple of teenagers on a first date. Reluctantly, Don had to let Charlie’s hand go so he could use his crutches. But that didn't stop him from hovering, or from leaving his hand on Charlie's lower back the whole way down the stairs.

"Don," Charlie stage-whispered when they reached the bottom of the stairs. 

"What?"

"If you don't stop groping me, I'm never gonna make it through dinner."

Don gave his brother a wicked grin and slid his hand further south until Charlie squawked. 

It was then they both noticed their father standing by the dining room table holding a plate full of foil-wrapped baked potatoes. Instantly sobered, Don snatched his hand away from Charlie’s ass and took a step back. Charlie suddenly found his shoes fascinating and had turned a dark shade of pink.

"So...I take it you're both on the same page now?" Alan asked.

Don looked at Charlie, who stole a quick glimpse back at him as if deciding if they should come clean or not. He could read in his brother’s eyes how nervous he was, but he could also see that Charlie was trusting him to get them through this. And after letting Charlie down over the last week, Don felt the need to step up to the plate.

“Yeah, Dad. I think we are,” Don said, sounding almost apologetic. “You gonna be okay with that?”

Alan set the plate down on the table and came around to stand in front of them, his wizened eyes studying them both carefully.

“If it’s what you honestly want, I’ll be fine,” he replied, a hint of resignation seeping through his outward show of support. “Now come and help me set the table. I barbequed some ribeyes.”

Don did as he was told and brought food and dishes out to the table while Charlie took a seat and waited for them. Alan kept up the lighthearted banter about basketball and the game that was on later, and for a while, everything seemed normal.

But as hard as he tried, Don couldn’t keep his eyes off Charlie for long, and his brother kept stealing wistful glances at him through the entire meal. By the time they’d finished eating, the big, pink elephant in the room was impossible to ignore.

“Oh, for god's sake, would you two just go hold hands on the couch or something,” Alan said as he stood and started gathering up the plates. “I feel like you’re gonna explode if you don’t. Go on - I’ll clear this up.”

“Dad…” Charlie said. “If it makes you uncomfortable, we don’t have to -”

Alan fixed him with a stern look. “This is your home, Charlie. Yours too, Don. If you’re gonna make it work between the two of you, then this is the one place where you should feel safe to be yourselves.”

Don and Charlie shared a startled glance with each other and Don shrugged. Who was he to disobey their father, after all? Helping Charlie to the couch, he grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. Once he’d found the channel the game was on, he settled onto the couch next to his brother.

Feeling incredibly self-conscious, Don tentatively took Charlie’s hand in his. Charlie huffed at him and yanked on his arm until he was plastered against his side. Don’s heart was racing and he kept glancing back towards the kitchen where he could hear their father washing up. It felt so scary to be doing this where they could get caught.

That’s when it hit him that it would always be like this. But their dad was right - if they couldn’t be themselves here at home, then they didn’t stand a chance.

Don squeezed Charlie’s hand and then let it go. He could see his brother’s worried expression morph into a relieved smile as Don wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him even closer. 

They both jumped a little when their father returned and found them that way on the couch, but to his credit, Alan didn’t flinch, simply taking a seat in the recliner with a beer in his hand.

“What? You didn’t get us one?” asked Don, testing the atmosphere.

“You know where the fridge is,” Alan replied. “And last I checked, you had two perfectly functioning legs. Unlike some of us.”

Don’s face crinkled up in a smile as he watched his dad take a long pull on his beer. “Maybe on the next commercial break,” he said and stretched his legs out to rest his feet on the coffee table, getting comfortable.

They watched the game together, cracking jokes and drinking beer just like they always had. And if Charlie’s head rested on Don’s shoulder, or Don’s hand wandered to play with Charlie’s hair, no one made a big deal about it. Don found himself smiling and laughing, amazed beyond belief that he could ever be so lucky.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pure, unadulterated smut. You've been warned! :)

For two torturous days, Charlie survived on nothing but covert fondling and the odd kiss. He’d agreed to take things slowly with Don, but their continued abstinence had only served to fuel the fire, leaving him in a constant state of slow-burning arousal.

The night before, Amita and Larry had come over for dinner, and he and Don had had to dial back all the over-familiar touches that they were quickly getting used to. They easily fell back into the role of being just brothers, their usual lighthearted teasing coming naturally as they played it up for their audience. But by the time they’d said goodbye to their friends, Charlie was practically vibrating with the need to plaster himself against his brother’s body.

He could tell Don was having a hard time keeping things to a slow pace, too. Every opportunity he had, his hands were all over Charlie - when he wasn’t hugging him, then it was a pat on the shoulder, a hand on the small of his back, fingers toying with his hair… the water bill was going to be sky high this month with the number of extra showers they’d both been taking.

Tomorrow Don would be going back to work - strictly on desk duty, and only for four hours a day, but Charlie would be left sitting at home, simmering on the back burner while he was gone. They had one last day together until he’d be forced to share his brother with the rest of the world, and there was absolutely no way they were going to sleep apart tonight if there was anything Charlie could do about it.

His plan hinged on getting the house to themselves for the night, but that meant having to talk with his dad about it, and he'd been putting it off all morning. Now it was already noon, and his dad was starting to make noises about ordering in Chinese for dinner. Charlie had no choice but to be brave.

He cornered Alan in the kitchen, where he was preparing a sandwich for lunch.

“Dad, can we talk?” he asked, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt like he tended to do when he was nervous.

His father took one appraising look at him and knew something was up. “What’s wrong?” he asked, sounding concerned.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Charlie said.

“Then why do you look like you’re about to tell me my dog died?”

The corner of Charlie’s lip lifted in a half smile. “It’s nothing like that - there’s nothing wrong. It’s just…”

“Yes?” Alan prodded when Charlie chickened out.

“Dad...do you think, maybe, Don and I could have the place to ourselves tonight?” he blurted. Charlie gave his dad his patented big puppy-dog eyes - the kind his parents had never been able to say no to.

When the implications of what he was asking became clear, his father got all flustered - just like when Charlie was thirteen and they’d sat down to have ‘the talk’ before he went off to university. 

“Oh! Oh, of course,” Alan said, looking anywhere but at Charlie. “I’ll, uh...I’ll call up some of the guys from my book club. We’ve been thinking about getting a poker night together for a while now. And Bill said he’d host it, so that’ll work out okay.”

Now Charlie felt guilty on top of being embarrassed. “Dad...never mind - it’s okay. I don’t want you to feel like I’m kicking you out.”

“And I don’t want you to feel like you can’t have a night alone with Don because I’m always here,” Alan replied. “Actually, I’ve been thinking…”

“What?” Charlie asked, suddenly wary.

“Maybe it’s time for me to get that condo I was thinking about.”

“Dad, no - you don’t have to move because of me and Don. I never meant to make you feel like you’re not welcome here.”

“And I don’t, Charlie,” Alan answered. “I know you and your brother would never ask me to leave, and I appreciate that. But I also know that what you really need right now is time alone to figure things out. The last thing you need is to have to tiptoe around because you’re worried about your old man walking in on you. And believe me - that’s the last thing I want, too.”

Charlie’s heart sank. After working so hard at keeping the family together, it looked like he and Don had managed to tear it apart anyway. He hated the thought that his dad felt like he was getting in the way. 

“Hey, now,” Alan said, tipping Charlie’s chin up to look into his watery eyes. “Don’t you be worrying about me, okay? I was planning on moving out when there was talk of Amita moving in, remember? This is no different. And anyways, I’ll still be dropping by all the time for dinner and game nights - just like Don always did.”

“Yeah? I’d like that,” Charlie admitted quietly.

Seemingly out of the blue, Alan pulled him in for a hug. It was the first time since he and Don made their intentions known that his father had held him, and Charlie felt a surge of relief. It was like he’d been forgiven, and he clutched his dad tight.

Alan gave him one last pat on the back and let him go, wiping surreptitiously at the moisture that had gathered in his own eyes. “And I’m still going out tonight, so don’t wait up for me,” he said.

***

Don walked into the kitchen just as his father was announcing he was going out for the night. Any thoughts he’d had of making lunch went out the window as a whole swarm of butterflies took flight in his stomach. If his dad was going out, that meant he and Charlie would be alone - really alone - for the first time since they’d admitted their feelings for each other.

“You’re going out? I thought you were ordering in Chinese,” Don said, trying to sound casual instead of hopeful.

Judging by the knowing look in his dad’s eye, Alan wasn’t fooled. “I was just telling Charlie that the guys from my book club are thinking about getting a poker game together.”

“Poker, huh?” Don asked. 

“Yeah. Believe it or not, I do have a social life of my own. And I think I’m well overdue for a night out with the boys.”

“Okay, well, don’t let us stand in your way,” Don replied. “Just don’t be drinking and driving.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure Bill will let me crash at his place if things get out of hand,” Alan said, winking at Charlie as he clapped a hand on Don’s shoulder. “Oh, and if you go to the store later, we need more butter,” he added as he picked up his lunch and left.

As soon as their father was gone, Don’s eyes drank in the sight of his brother. The sun slanting through the kitchen window caught the red highlights in his hair, and he couldn’t resist reaching his hand out to touch one of the springy curls. He felt a spike of arousal shoot through him as the greedy lock wrapped around his finger, trapping it in its silky grip.

“So...alone, huh?” he asked. “Do you think, maybe we could…”

“God, yes!” Charlie answered before he could even finish, making him grin.

He wasn’t sure who made the first move, but he suddenly found his arms wrapped around Charlie, their lips clashing as they banished whatever space was left between them.

“Good,” Don panted when they finally broke apart. “I don’t think I could have waited any longer.”

***

 

As it was, Don had to wait another three hours before their father officially left for his night out. It was three of the longest hours of his life. By the time they were finally alone with the doors locked and their phones turned off, Don was just about out of his mind with anticipation.

“Here or upstairs?” Charlie asked, almost the second they were alone.

“Do you even need to ask?” said Don, practically pouncing on Charlie, half-knocking him backwards onto the couch.

Charlie barked out a joyous laugh, which lit up Don’s heart like a Christmas tree. He wanted to spend the rest of his life coaxing that sound from his brother’s lips.

The next few minutes were spent wrestling with their clothes, both of them fumbling and awkward in their desperation to free themselves of the last obstacle keeping them apart.

Don hopped on one foot, tugging on his sock - the only item of clothing he had left on him - shouting in triumph when it came free. But when he turned his attention back to Charlie, the concerned look in his brother’s eyes caught him off guard.

“What happened to your ribs?” Charlie asked, his hand reaching out to trace the week-old yellow and green marbled bruise that covered a good portion of Don’s flank. He’d forgotten all about it, and the reminder quickly brought him down from his high.

“That? It’s nothing,” Don obfuscated.

“And this one?” Charlie said, poking at another old bruise painting Don’s left hip. “I suppose this one’s nothing, too?”

Don flinched away, the deep bruise still sore despite the passage of time. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. The mood was well and truly broken now, so he figured he might as well come clean. With a sigh, he flopped down on the couch next to Charlie.

“I wasn’t kidding when I told you my head was in a really bad place, Charlie.” He said, unable to look him in the eye. “I spent a lot of time roaming around some pretty tough neighbourhoods and going into bars looking to pick a fight. I thought...I guess I thought I deserved to be punished. You know - for what I did to you. For the things I still wanted to do to you.”

He felt Charlie’s warm hand stroke up and down along his spine. “I get it, Don. I really do - I was pretty messed up , too, you know. I thought you knew how I felt about you and you couldn’t get away from me fast enough. I thought you hated me. And I thought I deserved it.”

“No, Charlie!” Don protested, the familiar spike of guilt stabbing at his heart. “I could never hate you. I love you. You know that, right?”

Charlie nodded almost shyly. “Yeah. I get that, now,” he assured him. “It’s good to hear it, though. And...you know - the same goes for me. I mean, I love you, too.”

The words stirred up the butterflies in Don’s stomach, and he began to think there was still some hope in salvaging their romantic evening. “So are we good?” he asked, giving Charlie a hopeful glance.

“Yeah, we’re good,” Charlie replied, sliding his hand up to the back of Don’s neck to gently pull him closer.

Don let himself be pulled in for a kiss. It was fairly chaste, considering the amount of skin on display, but it didn't stay that way for long. To his surprise, Charlie quickly took control, pushing him back down onto the couch and straddling him in one smooth move.

Greedy hands roamed all over Don's body possessively, smoothing over his arms and kneading the muscles in his shoulders and chest. Then the touches became bolder, stroking with purpose down Don's stomach and over his thighs, teasing but not touching the straining erection that was begging for attention.

Charlie's eyes met Don's looking for consent to continue. Don swallowed hard and nodded, realising that Charlie needed this - needed to be in charge for this.

Don couldn't tear his eyes away as Charlie's curly head bowed down over him, and just the thought of having Charlie's mouth wrapped around him was almost enough to make him come. He was aware that he was panting, and Charlie, the bastard, looked up at him and smirked, knowing exactly the kind of effect he was having on him. When at last a hot pink tongue darted out to taste him, Don had to bite hard on his lip to reign in his orgasm.

His fantasies paled in comparison to the real thing. For as unpracticed as Charlie was, he more than made up for it in enthusiasm. And he was a damn quick study. He read Don's inarticulate grunts and moans like it was a language he'd spoken from birth, and let them dictate his actions. A grunt - back off a bit; a moan - keep it up; a long groan - definitely doing it right. 

"Charlie!" he shouted, barely having the presence of mind to warn him when he was going to come.

Charlie's lips pulled off the end of Don's cock with a wet pop just in time, and large brown eyes watched on with such rapt fascination and amazement that it made Don's heart clench. There was so much he wanted to show his brother - so many things to teach him and learn from him. And they would have the rest of their lives together to do just that.

"I want you to fuck me," Don said, the words coming out of his mouth as much a surprise to him as they were to Charlie.

His brother's eyes widened and he gasped out a loud groan. Don felt the hot splashes of Charlie's orgasm stripe across his belly, and he grinned up at his brother in triumph.

Charlie gave his arm a playful smack. "That's cheating," he panted, half-collapsing on top of him. "And I thought you wanted to take things slowly."

Don shrugged, still grinning like an idiot as his heart slowly returned to its normal rhythm. His hand lazily stroked circles over his brother's back and he breathed in the heady scent of Charlie's musk and clean sweat. He honestly couldn't think of a time when he'd been happier.

They lay there together silently for a while, cooling off. Charlie propped his chin on his fist, seemingly happy to just gaze into Don's eyes. Don was blown away by the depth of the love he saw there - how simple and all-encompassing it was - and he had to kiss him. 

***

 

"Did you really mean it?" Charlie asked later, after they'd showered and eaten dinner.

Don looked up from the plate he was scraping into the garbage. "What?"

"What you said earlier...do you really want me to fuck you?" Charlie squeaked, then jutted his chin out as if daring Don to laugh at him.

"Yes!" Don answered in a heartbeat. He practically dropped the plate from the powerful jolt of lust that flashed through him.

"I didn't mean this minute," Charlie chuckled, then paused. "Actually...I'm a little surprised you want me to."

Don wrapped his arms around his brother, his hands reaching around to pull Charlie’s hips tight against his own. Charlie’s eyebrows shot up when he felt how hard Don was already.

“I’ve been thinking about it all day,” Don confessed. “I wanna know what it’s like. I mean, you seemed to enjoy it. Eventually.”

Charlie rocked his hips against Don’s groin and a slow smile spread across his face. “It didn’t hurt nearly as much as you probably think. And you have no idea how amazing it felt having you inside me.”

Don’s breath caught in his throat, his brother’s words shooting straight to his dick, making it throb painfully against the zipper of his jeans.

“Do it now,” Don pleaded, his voice rough and needy.

Charlie looked around them, like he was trying to find a clean surface to use and Don nearly laughed. “Not here. My bedroom.”

Don half dragged Charlie behind him, barely slowing down enough to accommodate his brother’s limping gait. When they got to the stairs they stopped, both of them realising how long it was going to take Charlie to navigate them. Their eyes met, and it was like Don could see Charlie thinking the same thing.

“Piggyback,” Don said, and squatted low enough for Charlie to climb onto his back. Charlie whooped like a little kid, clinging tight to his shoulders all the way up the stairs, nearly getting concussion as Don ducked to get through the doorway to his room.

Don flopped Charlie onto the bed before kicking the door shut and joining him, his chest heaving from his exertions.

“You’re a lot heavier than the last time we did that,” Don complained as he caught his breath.

“The last time we did that I was eight,” Charlie pointed out, his boyish grin making him look not that much older than that now.

Don had no choice but to ravage him.

They play-wrestled for a while, Don holding back a bit, still mindful of Charlie’s injuries. Clothes were stripped away and hair was mussed up until they were both equally naked and dishevelled. Don rolled on top of his brother, still smiling, although more thoughtfully.

“What is it?” Charlie asked, his hands busy playing with Don’s chest hair.

“Nothing,” Don said, shaking his head at himself. “It’s silly.”

“No - really. Come on, what is it?” Charlie insisted.

“It’s just...it’s never been like this with anyone else. It’s never been this...fun.”

Charlie frowned slightly, then smiled. “That’s a good thing, right?”

“Yeah,” Don agreed, his grin kicking up a notch before he swooped down and devoured Charlie’s mouth, Charlie wasting no time reciprocating. 

Don’s hands mapped out Charlie’s chest carefully; the cuts had mostly healed, but they still looked pink and tender, and he wanted this to feel good. He had the sudden need to kiss each and every one of his brother’s wounds - like he could kiss them better. Following his impulse, Don wrenched his mouth away from Charlie’s to trail a line of wet kisses down to the first pink scar on his chest.

Charlie jerked slightly under him when he realised what he was doing, but he didn’t object, so Don kept going. He didn’t stop until every last one of Charlie’s scars had been thoroughly seen to. Only the nail wounds under the cast on his foot escaped his lips, and by the time he was done, Charlie looked completely debauched.

“My turn,” Charlie practically growled, pulling himself up on wobbly limbs to kneel on the bed facing Don. “Lie down.”

Don did as he was ordered, grasping the base of his cock, which had joyfully responded to Charlie’s assertiveness. He found it almost impossible to lie still as his brother's mouth and hands explored his body from top to bottom. And then he was ordered to turn over and the process was repeated, leaving him achingly hard and pressing painfully into the mattress.

"Please tell me you have supplies in here," Charlie muttered under his breath, climbing off of Don's back long enough to rummage through his bedside table. "Uh...Don?"

Don lifted his head just far enough to see that Charlie was holding the bottle of Astroglide he'd purchased a couple of days back. From the way Charlie's brow was quirked up, he'd noticed that a third of it had already been used.

"I was curious - so I've been...experimenting," Don replied, amazed that his brother had still had enough blood circulating to raise a blush. “So? Are we gonna do this, or what?”

Charlie’s smile turned wicked and he flicked the lid off the bottle with a satisfying snick. An insistent hand reached around Don’s waist and urged him up onto his hands and knees. Don peered over his shoulder in time to see Charlie disappear from view behind him. But as much as he wanted to see what he was doing, the angle was too awkward and it was putting a strain on his neck. So he he settled for closing his eyes and allowing himself to simply go with it.

He felt Charlie bend over him and place a hot, wet kiss on his cheek. But he didn’t stop there - teeth gently nipped at the soft flesh, his brother’s soft tongue immediately soothing away the sting. And then his cheeks were parted and with a jolt, Don felt Charlie’s tongue flick over the sensitive skin of his anus.

The strangled shout that came out of Don’s mouth was loud and undignified and utterly beyond his control.

“Was that too much?” Charlie’s worried voice filtered through to his sex-fogged brain.

“Fuck, Charlie! Where’d you learn to do that?” Don gasped.

Charlie shrugged. “Seemed like the right thing to do. Did I do it wrong?”

“God, no! Don’t stop,” Don demanded, his head dropping down to rest on his folded arms. The new position had the added bonus of forcing his rump closer to Charlie’s face.

He heard Charlie groan behind him and strong hands took hold of his ass, opening him up for inspection. Don had never had a girlfriend willing to do anything like this with him, and until this moment, he never thought this was something he’d be into. But Charlie’s mouth and fingers played with him until he felt like his whole body had melted and become one with the mattress.

By the time Charlie’s slicked-up fingers eased inside him, he was eagerly pushing back and demanding more.

***

 

Charlie watched his cock slowly sink into his brother’s body, the velvety grip tight around his shaft. Don’s groans were urging him on, making his hips stutter forward until he was buried as deep as he could go. He was so close to coming that he had to stop and mentally pull himself back from the brink.

“You okay?” he asked Don, his hands stroking along his brother’s smooth back.

Don whimpered and nodded, like he was incapable of speech, and he pushed back against Charlie, rocking them together until Charlie took up the pace and began fucking him slowly. Their two bodies moved together in an instinctive rhythm, Charlie curled over Don’s back like he couldn’t get close enough, shifting a bit with each stroke until he found the spot that had his brother wailing.

Reaching around, Charlie found Don’s heavy erection and pumped it in time with his movements. The added stimulus quickly pushed Don over the edge and he came with a shout, his ass clenching around Charlie’s cock in a staccato rhythm. Charlie followed him over the edge moments later, his hips riding out the last of his orgasm. 

Charlie collapsed on top of Don, still buried deep inside. With his arms wrapped around him, plastered against his brother’s back, he never wanted this moment to end.


	22. Epilogue

Don arrived at the Federal Building at 8:30 am, as usual, only today he really didn’t want to be there. He’d woken up next to Charlie, his brother’s limbs slung around him possessively, and it took a Herculean effort to get out of that bed. Especially when Charlie whined and grabbed at him with greedy hands, trying to get him to stay.

Yet here he was, walking through the bullpen as if this was just another Monday. It was impossible to ignore the looks he was getting - cautious, worried looks that implied they didn’t think he’d make it through the day.

And the minute he caught sight of Agent Jessop’s smug-ugly face, he thought they might be right. Don stormed into his cubicle and got right into Jessop’s space, jabbing him with his finger.

“What are you still doing here?” he snarled.

Jessop merely raised an eyebrow, seemingly unruffled by Don’s anger. “Just helping out until you’re back to full-time duties.”

Don didn’t back down, and even though he was a good foot shorter than the older agent, he could tell that he was starting to intimidate Jessop. “I think you’ve ‘helped’ enough. So I suggest you clear out before I decide to make a formal complaint on behalf of my brother for harassment.”

“Based on his word against mine?” Jessop sneered.

“In this department, I think you’ll find Charlie’s word carries a hell of a lot more weight than yours,” said Don. “In fact, I’m pretty sure I can make a case for impeding our investigation and reckless endangerment of a civilian consultant under your direct protection.”

To Don’s immense satisfaction, Jessop blanched and stepped back. He’d hit a nerve, and the man had guilt written all over his face.

“You don’t have proof,” Jessop argued, still putting up a fight.

“I have video from our security cameras,” Don bluffed. “The audio’s not great, but I know a computer expert who should be able to clear it up enough to bury you so deep in shit you’ll be digging yourself out for years.”

This time Jessop faltered, his eyes scanning the ceilings looking for cameras. Don saw the moment he spotted it - the camera they’d installed after the shootout that had nearly cost Charlie his life. It was a live feed camera and it wasn’t hooked up to a recorder, but Jessop didn’t know that.

Jessop hastily began gathering his things together. “I need to get back to New York, anyways,” he said, trying desperately to hold on to his dignity. “I sent Mansfield home a few days ago, and he’s complaining about the backlog.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Don muttered, crossing his arms over his chest and standing in Jessop’s way so the creep had to squeeze around him to get by.

To his amusement, he’d gained an appreciative audience, and when the elevator doors slid shut on the visiting agent there were hoots and whistles all around.

“And don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out,” Colby said with a huge smile.

“If the door doesn’t hit him, I can think of a lot of people who’d stand in line to do the job,” Megan added. She gave Don the once-over. “You okay?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” Don answered.

They stood for a moment in awkward silence, until Megan asked the inevitable question. “So? How’s Charlie?”

Even though he was expecting it, hearing his brother's name spoken out loud still managed to catch him off guard, instantly bringing a smile to his face. 

"He's doing alright, you know?" he said, rubbing the back of his neck in the hopes of hiding his blush. "All things considered."

"Uh huh," Megan replied, eyeing him with concerned suspicion. "So you and Charlie are getting along okay, then? I just ask, because last I saw him, your brother didn't look so good. Neither did you, actually. I just want to make sure the two of you are doing okay."

"Yeah...we're good," Don answered as neutrally as he could.

"All right, then. I guess I'll leave you to it," she said. She cast a glance over her shoulder at him as she left, and Don thought she looked very much like a dog itching to get its teeth into its favourite chew toy.

With a sigh, Don turned his attention to the case file open on his desk and the large stack of files sitting in his in box. Just thinking about reading all that fine print was giving him a headache and he wondered if it was going to become another migraine. He'd been getting a lot of those since Weiss had knocked him unconscious. As he sat at his desk rubbing at his temples, his mind began to wander - another thing that was happening more frequently since his concussion. And as usual, it wandered in the direction of his brother.

He was just remembering how Charlie had massaged his scalp the other night and how amazing it felt. He wished his brother were here now to do it again. His headache wouldn't stand a chance against Charlie's magic fingers. And, of course, thinking about Charlie's fingers led to him think about where those fingers had been the previous night, and how he very much wanted to return the favour tonight.

With a heavy sigh, Don resigned himself to get to work.

He spent the next three hours getting caught up on what he’d missed on his forced down time while avoiding all the concerned looks Megan, David and Colby kept throwing his way. And even though it had only been a few hours, he already missed Charlie.

When eleven-thirty rolled around, Megan showed up at Don’s desk bearing coffee.

“Thought you could use a break from all this paperwork,” she said, parking her ass down on the corner of his desk like she owned it.

Don took the coffee gratefully and pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off his burgeoning headache. “Thanks. You have no idea how much paperwork makes me miss being out in the field.”

“Oooh - that’s not a good sign. You’ve only been at it for, what...two or three hours?”

Don sighed. “Is that all? God, I feel like I’ve been writing reports for a decade.”

When he heard Charlie's voice coming from the other side of the bullpen, Don thought for a moment that his damaged brain had conjured up an hallucination borne of wishful thinking. But when he stood up, he saw that his brother was actually there, penned in on both sides by David and Colby as he picked his way carefully through the bullpen on his crutches.

Don couldn't help but smile at the bashful way Charlie accepted all the extra attention, ducking his head when David tried to ruffle his hair. God, he had it bad. Just catching a glimpse of his brother was enough to stir up butterflies in his stomach.

“Hey, Chuck! What are you doing here?” he asked, grinning at Charlie’s feigned annoyance over the nickname.

“I was bored. Thought I’d pay you guys a visit. That’s okay...isn’t it?” he asked, suddenly unsure of himself.

“Of course it’s okay,” Don replied and got up to meet him halfway. Don led him to the conference area where David was starting to put up evidence from a money laundering case they’d just got in. “Maybe you’ll be able to help us out on this one.”

Don saw Charlie’s face light up at the prospect of working on a new problem, and he handed him off to David, who started explaining the evidence they’d accumulated so far.

Megan came up next to Don and they shared a smile at the way Charlie’s hands still managed to fly around as he spoke, despite the crutches getting in his way.

“It’s amazing,” she said in his ear.

“He really is,” Don said, fondly, catching his slip too late.

Megan’s eyes made a quick study of him, and she gave him a knowing nod. “Good to see that you’ve worked things out,” she said, bumping shoulders with him, tongue in cheek. Then she left him to puzzle over what she’d meant by that.

The next half hour was highly unproductive. Don spent most of his time watching or listening to his brother as he helped out on the laundering case. The rest of his time he spent checking his watch, counting the minutes until he could take Charlie home and rip the clothes off him.

Don almost groaned out loud when Amita showed up just minutes before it was time to call it quits. Once again, his brother was fawned over by his concerned friend. Only this time, when Amita leaned in to kiss Charlie on the cheek, Don felt a twist of jealousy stab him in the gut.

He knew it was well and truly over between him and Amita, and Charlie had made it perfectly clear that Don was ‘the one’ for him, but it still stabbed a little to see the open affection they shared. It was something that would forever be denied to them, and he wondered - not for the first time - whether Charlie truly understood what they were letting themselves in for.

“I thought it might be fun for all of us to get together for lunch. We have a lot of catching up to do,” Amita said, planting a possessive hand on Charlie’s shoulder.

Charlie shrugged her off with an apologetic smile. “Actually, one of the reasons I came by today was to make sure Don doesn’t overdo it on his first day back. And that means taking him home after his four hours are up. So...can we do a rain cheque on the lunch thing?”

“Of course,” Amita replied graciously. “Anytime.”

As if he was sensing Don’s turbulent thoughts, Charlie looked straight at him with such open adoration on his face that it left him breathless. Any fears he might have had about the fate of their relationship fizzled out then and there. And as they said their goodbyes and made their way to the elevator, Don casually slung an arm around Charlie’s shoulders, getting a blinding smile in response.

As far as the rest of the world was concerned, they were brothers - a little affection between them was to be expected. And after nearly losing his brother to a crazed serial killer, Don knew no one would think twice about an extra hug here or there. It wasn’t much, but they could make it work.

Don gave his team a dismissive wave as he herded Charlie into the waiting elevator, already planning all the ways he would show his affection for his brother once they were alone.


End file.
